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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE   COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH   CAROLINIANA 


C813 
S89d.l 
v.l 
0.3 


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be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


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Form  No.  471 


DRED; 


i 


TALE  OF  THE  GREAT  DISMAL  SWAMP. 


BY 

HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE, 

AUTHOB  OF  "UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN." 


'Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds, — 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore, 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds, 
And  man  never  trod  before. 

And,  when  on  the  earth  he  sunk  to  sleep, 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew, 
He  lay  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tears,  that  nightly  steep 

The  flesh  with  blistering  dew." 


IN    TWO   VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON    AND    COMPANY. 

1856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

HARRIET  BEECHER   STOWE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    BT 

HOBART  A   BOBBINS, 

STEW  ENGLAND  TTFE  AND  3TEUEOTYPE  FOUNDERT, 
BOSTON 


PREFACE. 


The  writer  of  this  book  lias  chosen,  once  more,  a 
subject  from  the  scenes  and  incidents  of  the  slavehold- 
ing  states. 

The  reason  for  such  a  choice  is  two-fold.  First,  in  a 
merely  artistic  point  of  view,  there  is  no  ground,  ancient 
or  modern,  whose  vivid  lights,  gloomy  shadows,  and 
grotesque  groupings,  afford  to  the  novelist  so  wide  a 
scope  for  the  exercise  of  his  powers/  In  the  near 
vicinity  of  modern  civilization  of  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  kind,  exist  institutions  which  carry  us  back  to  the 
twilight  of  the  feudal  ages,  with  all  their  exciting  pos- 
sibilities of  incident.  Two  nations,  the  types  of  two 
exactly  opposite  styles  of  existence,  are  here  strug- 
gling; and  from  the  intermingling  of  these  two  a  third 
race  has  arisen,  and  the  three  are  interlocked  in  wild 
and  singular  relations,  that  evolve  every  possible  com- 
bination of  romance. 

Hence,  if  the  writer's  only  object  had  been  the  pro- 
duction of  a  work  of  art,  she  would  have  felt  justified 
in  not  turning  aside  from  that  mine  whose  inexhaustible 
stores  have  but  begun  to  be  developed. 

But  this  object,  however  legitimate,  was  not  the  only 
nor  the  highest  one.  It  is  the  moral  bearings  of  the 
subject  involved  which  have  had  the  chief  influence  in 
its  selection. 

The  issues  presented  by  the  great  conflict  between 
liberty  and  slavery  do  not  grow  less  important  from 
£\  year  to  year.  On  the  contrary,  their  interest  increases 
\Aj  with  every  step  in  the  development  of  the  national 
VN  career.  Never  has  there  been  a  crisis  in  the  history 
Q    of  this  nation  so  momentous  as  the  present.     If  ever  a 


1$ 


IV  PREFACE. 

nation  was  raised  up  by  Divine  Providence,  and  led  forth 
upon  a  conspicuous  stage,  as  if  for  the  express  purpose 
of  solving  a  great  moral  problem  in  the  sight  of  all 
mankind,  it  is  this  nation.  God  in  his  providence  i3 
now  asking  the  American  people,  Is  the  system  of 
slavery,  as  set  forth  in  the  American  slave  code,  right  ? 
Is  it  so  desirable,  that  you  will  directly  establish  it  over 
broad  regions,  where,  till  now,  you  have  solemnly  for- 
bidden it  to  enter  ?  And  this  question  the  American 
people  are  about  to  answer.  Under  such  circumstances 
the  writer  felt  that  no  apology  was  needed  for  once 
more  endeavoring  to  do  something  towards  revealing 
to  the  people  the  true  character  of  that  system.  If  the 
people  are  to  establish  such  a  system,  let  them  do  it 
with  their  eyes  open,  with  all  the  dreadful  realities 
before  them. 

One  liberty  has  been  taken  which  demands  acknowl- 
edgment in  the  outset.  The  writer  has  placed  in  the 
mouth  of  one  of  her  leading  characters  a  judicial  decis- 
ion of  Judge  Ruffin,  of  North  Carolina,  the  boldness, 
clearness,  and  solemn  eloquence  of  which  have  excited 
admiration  both  in  the  Old  World  and  the  New.  The 
author  having  no  personal  acquaintance  with  that  gen- 
tleman, the  character  to  whom  she  attributes  it  is  to  be 
considered  as  created  merely  on  a  principle  of  artistic 
fitness. 

To  maintain  the  unity  of  the  story,  some  anachro- 
nisms with  regard  to  the  time  of  the  session  of  courts 
have  been  aUowed ;  for  works  of  fiction  must  some- 
times use  some  liberties  in  the  grouping  of  incidents. 

But  as  mere  cold  art,  unquickened  by  sympathy  with 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  is  nothing,  the  author  hopes  that 
those  who  now  are  called  to  struggle  for  all  that  is 
noble  in  our  laws  and  institutions  may  find  in  this  book 
the  response  of  a  sympathizing  heart. 


...     ■  r  j 


CONTENTS 

OF    VOLUME    I. 


' 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  CANEMA, 7 

CHAPTER    II. 

CLAYTON, *. 18 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE  CLAYTON  FAMILY  AND  SISTER  ANNE, 80 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  GORDON  FAMILY, 41 

CHAPTER    V. 

HARRY  AND  HIS  WIFE, 62 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  DILEMMA 80 

CHAPTER    VII. 

CONSULTATION, 92 

CHAPTER     VIII. 

OLD  TIFF,     .  .  .  - 87 

CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  DEATH, 119 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE  PREPARATION, 125 

1* 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XI. 

PAGB 

THE  LOVERS, 136 

CHAPTER    XII. 

EXPLANATIONS, 150 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

TOM  GORDON, 168 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

AUNT  NESBIT'S  LOSS, 188 

CHAPTER    XV. 

MR.  JEKYL'S  OPINIONS, 199 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

MILLY'S  STORY, 206 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

UNCLE  JOHN. 224 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DRED,     238 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  CONSPIRATORS, 247 

CHAPTER    XX. 

SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA, 260 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

TIFF'S  PREPARATIONS 273 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE  WORSHIPPERS, 281 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  CAMP-MEETING, 298 


RED. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   MISTRESS    OP   CANEHA. 

"  Btlls,  Harry  ?  —  Yes.  — Dear  me,  where  are  they  ?  — 
There  !  —  No.  Here  ?  —  0,  look  !  —  What  do  you  think  of 
this  scarf?     Is  n't  it  lovely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Nina,  beautiful  —  but  —  " 

"  0,  those  bills  !  —  Yes  —  well,  here  goes  —  here  —  per- 
haps in  this  box.  No  —  that 's  my  opera-hat.  By  the  by, 
what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Is  n't  that  bunch  of  silver 
wheat  lovely  ?     Stop  a  bit  —  you  shall  see  it  on  me." 

And,  with  these  words,  the  slight  little  figure  sprang  up 
as  if  it  had  wings,  and,  humming  a  waltzing-tune,  skimmed 
across  the  room  to  a  looking-glass,  and  placed  the  jaunty 
little  cap  on  the  gay  little  head,  and  then,  turning  a  pirou- 
ette on  one  toe,  said,  "  There,  now  !  " 

"  There,  now  !  "  Ah,  Harry  !  ah,  mankind  generally  ! 
the  wisest  of  you  have  been  made  fools  of  by  just  such  danc- 
ing, glittering,  fluttering  little  assortments  of  curls,  pen- 
dants, streamers,  eyes,  cheeks,  and  dimples  ! 

The  little  figure,  scarce  the  height  of  the  Venus,  rounded 
as  that  of  an  infant,  was  shown  to  advantage  by  a  coquet- 
tish morning-dress  of  buff  muslin,  which  fluttered  open  in 
front  to  display  the  embroidered  skirt,  and  trim  little  mouse 
of  a  slipper.  The  face  was  one  of  those  provoking  c  ties 
which  set  criticism  at  defiance.     The  hair,  waving,  curl- 


8  THE  MISTEESS    OP   CANEMA. 

ing,  dancing  hither  and  thither,  seemed  to  have  a  wild, 
laughing-  grace  of  its  own ;  the  brown  eyes  twinkled  like 
the  pendants  of  a  chandelier  ;  the  little,  wicked  nose,  which 
bore  the  forbidden  upward  curve,  seemed  to  assert  its  right 
to  do  so,  with  a  saucy  freedom  ;  and  the  pendants  of  mul- 
tiplied brilliants  that  twinkled  in  her  ears,  and  the  nodding 
wreath  of  silver  wheat  that  set  off  her  opera-hat,  seemed 
alive  with  mischief  and  motion. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  ?  "  said  a  lively,  imperative 
voice,  — just  the  kind  of  voice  that  you  might  have  ex- 
pected from  the  figure. 

The  young  man  to  whom  this  question  was  addressed 
was  a  well-dressed,  gentlemanly  person  of  about  thirty-five, 
with  dark  complexion  and  hair,  and  deep,  full  blue  eyes. 
There  was  something  marked  and  peculiar  in  the  square, 
high  forehead,  and  the  finely-formed  features,  which  indi- 
cated talent  and  ability  ;  and  the  blue  eyes  had  a  depth  and 
strength  of  color  that  might  cause  them  at  first  glance  to 
appear  black.  The  face,  with  its  strongly-marked  expres- 
sion of  honesty  and  sense,  had  about  it  many  care-worn 
and  thoughtful  lines.  He  looked  at  the  little,  defiant  fay 
for  a  moment  with  an  air  of  the  most  entire  deference  and 
admiration  ;  then  a  heavy  shadow  crossed  his  face,  and  he 
answered,  abstractedly,  "  Yes,  Miss  Nina,  everything  you 
wear  becomes  pretty —  and  that  is  perfectly  charming." 

"  Isn't  it,  now,  Harry?  I  thought  you  would  think  so. 
You  see,  it 's  my  own  idea.  You  ought  to  have  seen  what 
a  thing  it  was  when  I  first  saw  it  in  Mme.  Le  Blanche's 
window.  There  was  a  great  hot-looking  feather  on  it,  and 
two  or  three  horrid  bows.  I  had  them  out  in  a  twinkling, 
and  got  this  wheat  in  —  which  shakes  so,  you  know.  It's 
perfectly  lovely  !  —  Well,  do  you  believe,  the  very  night  I 
wore  it  to  the  opera,  I  got  engaged  ?  " 

"  Engaged,  Miss  Nina  ?  " 

' '  Engaged  !  —  Yes,  to  be  sure  !     Why  not  ?  " 

'  It  seems  to  me  that's  a  very  serious  thing,  Miss 
Nina." 


THE   MISTEESS   OF    CANEMA.  9 

"  Serious  !  — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  said  the  little  beauty,  seat- 
ing herself  on  one  arm  of  the  sofa,  and  shaking  the  glit- 
tering hat  back  from  her  eyes.  "  Well,  I  fancy  it  was  —  to 
him,  at  least.     I  made  him  serious,  I  can  tell  you  ! " 

"  But,  is  this  true,  Miss  Nina  ?  Are  you  really  en- 
gaged ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  am —  to  three  gentlemen  ;  and  going 
to  stay  so  till  I  find  which  I  like  best.  May  be  you  know  I 
shan't  like  any  of  them." 

"  Engaged  to  three  gentlemen,  Miss  Nina?" 

"To  be  sure!  —  Can't  you  understand  English,  Harry? 
I  am  now  —  fact." 

"  Miss  Nina,  is  that  right  ?  " 

"  Right  ?  —  why  not  ?  I  don't  know  which  to  take —  I 
positively  don't ;   so  I  took  them  all  on  trial,  you  know." 

"  Pray,  Miss  Nina,  tell  us  who  they  are." 

"Well,  there's  Mr.  Carson;  —  he's  a  rich  old  bachelor 
—  horridly  polite  —  one  of  those  little,  bobbing  men,  that 
always  have  such  shiny  dickies  and  collars,  and  such  bright 
boots,  and  such  tight  straps.  And  he  's  rich  —  and  per- 
fectly wild  about  me.  He  would  n't  take  no  for  an  answer, 
you  know  ;  so  I  just  said  yes,  to  have  a  little  quiet.  Be- 
sides, he  is  very  convenient  about  the  opera  and  concerts, 
and  such  things." 

"Well,  and  the  next?" 

"  Well,  the  next  is  George  Emmons.  He  's  one  of  youi 
pink-and-white  men,  you  know,  who  look  like  cream-candy, 
as  if  they  were  good  to  eat.  He  's  a  lawyer,  of  a  good 
family,  —  thought  a  good  deal  of,  and  all  that.  Well, 
really,  they  say  he  has  talents  —  I'm  no  judge.  I  know 
he  always  bores  me  to  death  ;  asking  me  if  I  have  read 
this  or  that  —  marking  places  in  books  that  I  never  read. 
He's  your  sentimental  sort  —  writes  the  most  romantic 
notes  on  pink  paper,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  And  the  third  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  I  don't  like  him  a  bit  —  I'm  sure  I 
don't.    He 's  a  hateful  creature  !    He  is  n't  handsome  ;  he 's 


10  THE   MISTRESS   OF   CANEMA. 

proud  as  Lucifer ;  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  he  got 
me  to  be  engaged.  It  was  a  kind  of  an  accident.  He  's 
real  good,  though  —  too  good  for  me,  that  's  a  fact.  But, 
then,  I'm  afraid  of  him  a  little." 

"  And  his  name  ?  " 

"  Well,  his  name  is  Clayton  —  Mr.  Edward  Clayton,  at 
your  service.  He  's  one  of  your  high-and-mighty  people  — 
with  such  deep-set  eyes  —  eyes  that  look  as  if  they  were 
in  a  cave  —  and  such  black  hair  !  And  his  eyes  have  a  des- 
perate sort  of  sad  look,  sometimes  —  quite  Byronic.  He  's 
tall,  and  rather  loose-jointed  —  has  beautiful  teeth  ;  his 
mouth,  too,  is  —  well,  when  he  smiles,  sometimes  it  really 
is  quite  fascinating  ;  —  and  then  he  's  so  different  from 
other  gentlemen  !  He  's  kind  —  but  he  don't  care  how  he 
dresses  ;  and  wears  the  most  horrid  shoes.  And,  then,  he 
isn't  polite — he  won't  jump,  you  know,  to  pick  up  your 
thread,  or  scissors;  and  sometimes  he '11  get  into  a  brown 
study,  and  let  you  stand  ten  minutes  before  he  thinks  to 
give  you  a  chair,  and  all  such  provoking  things.  He  isn't 
a  bit  of  a  lady's  man.  Well,  consequence  is,  as  my  lord 
won't  court  the  girls,  the  girls  all  court  my  lord  —  that 's 
the  way,  you  know  ;  —  and  they  seem  to  think  it 's  such  a 
feather  in  their  cap  to  get  attention  from  him— because,  you 
know,  he  's  horrid  sensible.  So,  you  see,  that  just  set  me  out 
to  see  what  I  could  do  with  him.  Well,  you  see,  I  would  n't 
court  him  ;  —  and  I  plagued  him,  and  laughed  at  him,  and 
spited  him,  and  got  him  gloriously  wroth  ;  and  he  said 
some  spiteful  things  about  me,  and  then  I  said  some  more 
about  him,  and  we  had  a  real  up-and-down  quarrel  ;  —  and 
then  I  took  a  penitent  turn,  you  know,  and  just  went  grace- 
fully down  into  the  valley  of  humiliation  —  as  we  witches 
can  ;  and  it  took  wonderfully  —  brought  my  lord  on  to  his 
knees  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing.  Well,  really,  I 
don't  know  what  was  the  matter,  just  then,  but  he  spoke 
so  earnest  and  strong,  that  actually  he  got  me  to  crying  — 
hateful  creature  !  —  and  I  promised  all  sorts  of  things,  you 
know —  said  altogether  more  than  will  bear  thinking  of." 


THE   MISTRESS    OF   CANEMA.  11 

"  And  are  you  corresponding-  with  all  these  lovers,  Miss 
Nina?" 

"Yes  —  isn't  it  fun?  Their  letters,  you  know,  can't 
speak.  If  they  could,  when  they  come  rustling  together 
in  the  hag,  would  n't  there  be  a  muss  ?  " 

"  Miss  Nina,  I  think  you  have  given  your  heart  to  this 
last  one." 

"  0,  nonsense,  Harry  !  Have  n't  got  any  heart !  —  don't 
care  two  pins  for  any  of  them  !  All  I  want  is  to  have  a 
good  time.  As  to  love,  and  all  that,  I  don't  believe  I  could 
love  any  of  them  ;  I  should  be  tired  to  death  of  any  of 
them  in  six  weeks.     I  never  liked  anything  that  long." 

"  Miss  Nina,  you  must  excuse  me,  but  I  want  to  ask 
again,  is  it  right  to  trifle  with  the  feelings  of  gentlemen  in 
this  way  ?  " 

"Why  not?  —  Isn't  all  fair  in  war?  Don't  they  trifle 
with  us  girls,  every  chance  they  get  —  and  sit  up  so  pomp- 
ous in  their  rooms,  and  smoke  cigars,  and  talk  us  over,  as 
if  they  only  had  to  put  out  their  finger  and  say,  '  Come 
here,'  to  get  any  of  us  ?  I  tell  you,  it's  fun  to  bring  them 
down  !  —  Now,  there  's  that  horrid  George  Emmons  —  I  tell 
you,  if  he  did  n't  flirt  all  winter  with  Mary  Stephens,  and 
got  everybody  to  laughing  about  her  !  —  it  was  so  evident, 
you  see,  that  she  liked  him  —  she  could  n't  help  showing  it, 
poor  little  thing  !  —  and  then  my  lord  would  settle  his  col- 
lar, and  say  he  hadn't  quite-  made  up  his  mind  to  take  her, 
and  all  that.  Well,  I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind  to  take 
him,  either  —  and  so  poor  Emma  is  avenged.  As  to  the  old 
bach — that  smooth-dicky  man — you  see,  he  can't  be  hurt; 
for  his  heart  is  rubbed  as  smooth  and  hard  as  his  dicky, 
with  falling  in  love  and  out  again.  He  's  been  turned  off 
by  three  girls,  now ;  and  his  shoes  squeak  as  brisk  as  ever, 
and  he  's  just  as  jolly.  You  see,  he  did  n't  use  to  be  so 
rich.  Lately,  he's  come  into  a  splendid  property  ;  so,  if  I 
don't  take  him,  poor  man,  there  are  enough  that  would  be 
glad  of  him." 

"  Well,  then,  but  as  to  that  other  one  ?  " 


12  THE    MISTRESS    OF    CANEMA. 

"What!  my  lord  Lofty?  0,  he  wants  humbling! — it 
would  n't  hurt  him,  in  the  least,  to  be  put  down  a  little. 
He  's  good,  too,  and  .afflictions  always  improve  good  people. 
I  believe  I  was  made  for  a  means  of  grace  to  'em  all." 

"Miss  Nina,  what  if  all  three  of  them  should  come  at 
once  — or  even  two  of. them  ?  " 

"  What  a  droll  idea  !  Would  n't  it  be  funny  ?  Just  to  think 
of  it !  What  a  commotion !  What  a  scene !  It  would 
really  be  vastly  entertaining." 

"  Now,  Miss  Nina,  I  want  to  speak  as  a  friend." 

"  No,  you  shan't !  it  is  just  what  people  say  when  they 
are  going  to  say  something  disagreeable.  I  told  Clayton, 
once  for  all,  that  I  would  n't  have  him  speak  as  a  friend  to 
me." 

"  Pray,  how  does  he  take  all  this  ?  " 

"  Take  it !  Why,  just  as  he  must.  He  cares  a  great  deal 
more  for  me  than  I  do  for  him."  Here  a  slight  little  sigh 
escaped  the  fair  speaker.  "And  I  think  it  fun  to  shock 
him.  You  know  he  is  one  of  the  fatherly  sort,  who  is  always 
advising  young  girls.  Let  it  be  understood  that  his  stand- 
ard of  female  character  is  wonderfully  high,  and  all  that. 
And,  then,  to  think  of  his  being  tripped  up  before  me  !  —  it 's 
too  funny  !  "  The  little  sprite  here  took  off  her  opera-hat, 
and  commenced  waltzing  a  few  steps,  and,  stopping  mid- 
whirl,  exclaimed :  "  0,  do  you  know  we  girls  have  been 
trying  to  learn  the  cachucha,  and  I  've  got  some  castinets  ? 
Let  me  see  —  where  are  they?"  And  with  this  she  pro- 
ceeded to  upset  the  trunk,  from  which  flew  a  meteoric  shower 
of  bracelets,  billets-doux,  French  Grammars,  drawing-pen- 
cils, interspersed  with  confectionary  of  various  descriptions, 
and  all  the  et-ceteras  of  a  school-girl's  depository.  "There, 
upon  my  word,  there  are  the  bills  you  were  asking  for. 
There,  take  them  !  "  throwing  a  package  of  papers  at  the 
young  man.     "  Take  them !     Can  you  catch  ?  " 

"  Miss  Nina,  these  do  not  appear  to  be  bills." 

"  0,  bless  me  !  those  are  love-letters,  then.  The  bills  are 
somewhere."     And  the  little  hands  went  pawing  among  the 


THE    MISTEESS    OF    CAXEMA.  13 

heap,  making  the  fanciful  collection  fly  in  every  direction 
over  the  carpet.  "  Ah  I  I  believe  now  in  this  bonbon-box  I 
did  put  them.  Take  care  of  your  head,  Harry  !  "  And,  with 
the  word,  the  gilded  missile  flew  from  the  little  hand,  and, 
opening  on  the  way,  showered  Harry  with  a  profusion  of 
crumpled  papers.  "  Now  you  have  got  them  all,  except 
one,  that  I-  used  for  curl-papers,  the  other  night.  0,  don't 
look  so  sober  about  it!  Indeed,  I  kept  the  pieces — here 
they  are.  And  now  don't  you  say,  Harry,  don't  you  tell 
me  that  I  never  save  my  bills.  You  don't  know  how  partic- 
ular I  have  been,  and  what  trouble  I  have  taken.  But,  there 
—  there  's  a  letter  Clayton  wrote  to  me,  one  time  when  we 
had  a  quarrel.     Just  a  specimen  of  that  creature  !  " 

"  Pray,  tell  us  about  it,  Miss  Nina,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  admiringly  on  the  little  person,  while  he 
was  smoothing  and  arranging  the  crumpled  documents. 

"  Why,  you  see,  it  was  just  this  way.  You  know,  these 
men  —  how  provoking  they  are  !  They'll  go  and  read  all 
sorts  of  books  —  no  matter  what  they  read  !  —  and  then  they 
are  so  dreadfully  particular  about  us  girls.  Do  you  know, 
Harry,  this  always  made  me  angry  ? 

"  Well,  so,  you  see,  one  evening,  Sophy  Elliot  quoted  some 
poetry  from  Don  Juan,  —  I  never  read  it,  but  it  seems  folks 
call  it  a  bad  book,  —  and  my  lord  Clayton  immediately  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  her  in  such  an  appalling  way,  and  says,  '  Have 
you  read  Don  Juan,  Miss  Elliot  ? '  Then,  you  know,  as 
girls  always  do  in  such  cases,  she  blushed  and  stammered, 
and  said  her  brother  had  read  some  extracts  from  it  to  her. 
I  was  vexed,  and  said,  '  And,  pray,  what 's  the  harm  if 
she  did  read  it  ?  i"  mean  to  read  it,  the  very  first  chance  I 
get!' 

"  0  !  everybody  looked  so  shocked.  Why,  dear  me  !  if 
I  had  said  I  was  going  to  commit  murder,  Clayton  could 
not  have  looked  more  concerned.  So  he  put  on  that  very 
edifying  air  of  his,  and  said,  '  Miss  Nina,  I  trust,  as  your 
friend,  that  you  will  not  read  that  book.  I  should  lose  all 
respect  for  a  lady  friend  who  had  read  that.' 
2 


14  THE   MISTEESS    OF    CANEMA. 

"  '  Have  you  read  it,  Mr.  Clayton  ? '  said  I, 

"  'Yes,  Miss  Nina/  said  he,  quite  piously. 

"  '  What  makes  you  read  such  bad  books  ?  ;  said  I,  very 
innocently. 

"  Then  there  followed  a  general  fuss  and  talk ;  and  the 
gentlemen,  you  know,  would  not  have  their  wives  or  their 
sisters  read  anything  naughty,  for  the  world.  They  wanted 
us  all  to  be  like  snow-flakes,  and  all  that.  And  they  were 
quite  high,  telling  they  wouldn't  marry  this,  and  they 
would  n't  marry  that,  till  at  last  I  made  them  a  curtsey, 
and  said,  '  Gentlemen,  we  ladies  are  infinitely  obliged  to 
you,  but  we  don't  intend  to  marry  people  that  read  naughty 
books,  either.  Of  course  you  know  snow-flakes  don't  like 
smut ! ' 

"  Now,  I  really  did  n't  mean  anything  by  it,  except  to  put 
down  these  men,  and  stand  up  for  my  sex.  But  Clayton 
took  it  in  real  earnest.  Tie  grew  red  and  grew  pale,  and 
was  just  as  angry  as  he  could  be.  Well,  the  quarrel  raged 
about  three  days.  Then,  do  you  know,  I  made  him  give 
up,  and  own  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  There,  I  think  he 
was,  too,  —  don't  you  ?  Don't  you  think  men  ought  to  be 
as  good  as  we  are,  any  way  ?  " 

"Miss  Nina,  I  should  think  you  would  be  afraid  to  ex- 
press yourself  so  positively." 

"  0,  if  I  cared  a  sou  for  any  of  them,  perhaps  I  should. 
But  there  is  n't  one  of  the  train  that  I  would  give  that  for  1  " 
said  she,  flirting  a  shower  of  peanut-shells  into  the  air. 

"  Yes,  but,  Miss  Nina,  some  time  or  other  you  must  marry 
somebody.  You  need  somebody  to  take  care  of  the  prop- 
erty and  place." 

"  0,  that 's  it,  is  it  ?  You  are  tired  of  keeping  accounts, 
are  you,  with  me  to  spend  the  money  ?  Well,  I  don't  won- 
der. How  I  pity  anybody  that  keeps  accounts  !  Is  n't  it 
horrid,  Harry  ?  Those  awful  books  !  Do  you  know  that 
Mme.  Ardaine  set  out  that  '  we  girls '  should  keep  account 
of  our  expenses  ?  I  just  tried  it  two  weeks.  I  had  a  head- 
ache and  weak  eyes,  and  actually  it  nearly  ruined  my  con- 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    CANEMA.  15 

stitution.  Some  how  or  other,  they  gave  it  up,  it  gave  them 
so  much  trouble.  Aud  what 's  the  use  ?  When  money  's 
spent,  it 's  spent ;  and  keeping  accounts  ever  so  strict  won't 
get  it  back.  I  am  very  careful  about  my  expenses.  I  never 
get  anything  that  I  can  do  without." 

"For  instance/'  said  Harry,  rather  roguishly,  "  this  bill 
of  one  hundred  dollars  for  confectionary." 

"  Well,  you  know  just  how  it  is,  Harry.  It 's  so  horrid 
to  have  to  study  !  Girls  must  have  something.  And  you 
know  I  didn't  get  it  all  for  myself;  I  gave  it  round  to  all 
the  girls.  Then  they  used  to  ask  me  for  it,  and  I  could  n't 
refuse  —  and  so  it  went." 

"  I  did  n't  presume  to  comment,  Miss  Nina.  What  have 
we  here  ?  —  Mme.  Les  Cartes,  $450  ?  " 

"0,  Harry,  that  horrid  Mme.  Les  Cartes  !  You  never 
saw  anything  like  her  !  Positively  it  is  not  my  fault.  She 
puts  down  things  I  never  got,  I  know  she  does.  Nothing 
in  the  world  but  because  she  is  from  Paris.  Everybody  is 
complaining  of  her.  But,  then,  nobody  gets  anything  any- 
where else.  So  what  can  one  do,  you  know  ?  I  assure 
you,  Harry,  I  am  economical." 

The  young  man,  who  had  been  summing  up  the  accounts, 
now  burst  out  into  such  a  hearty  laugh  as  somewhat  dis- 
concerted the  fair  rhetorician. 

She  colored  to  her  temples. 

"Harry,  now,  for  shame!  Positively,  you  are  n't  re- 
spectful !  " 

"  0,  Miss  Nina,  on  my  knees  I  beg  pardon  !  "  still  con- 
tinuing to  laugh;  "but,  indeed,  you  must  excuse  me.  I 
am  positively  delighted  to  hear  of  your  economy,  Miss 
Nina." 

"Well,  now,  Harry,  you  may  look  at  the  bills  and  see. 
Have  n't  I  ripped  up  all  my  silk  dresses  and  had  them  col- 
ored over,  just  to  economize  ?  You  can  see  the  dyer's  bill, 
there  ;  and  Mme.  Carteau  told  me  she  always  expected  to 
turn  my  dresses  twice,  at  least.  0,  yes,  I  have  been  very 
economical." 


16  THE   MISTRESS    OP   CANEMA. 

"  I  have  heard  of  old  dresses  turned  costing  more  than 
new  ones,  Miss  Nina." 

"  0,  nonsense,  Harry  !  What  should  you  know  of  girls' 
things  ?  But  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing  I  've  got,  Harry,  and 
that  is  a  gold  watch  for  you.  There  it  is,"  throwing  a  case 
carelessly  towards  him;  "and  there  7s  a  silk  dress  for  your 
wife,"  throwing  him  a  little  parcel.  "I  have  sense  enough 
to  know  what  a  good  fellow  you  are,  at  any  rate.  I  could  n't 
go  on  as  I  do,  if  you  did  n't  rack  your  poor  head  fifty  ways 
to  keep  things  going  straight  here  at  home,  for  me." 

A  host  of  conflicting  emotions  seemed  to  cross  the  young 
man's  face,  like  a  shadow  of  clouds  over  a  field,  as  he 
silently  undid  the  packages.  His  hands  trembled,  his  lips 
quivered,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  Come,  Harry,  don't  this  suit  you?     I  thought  it  would." 

"  Miss  Nina,  you  are  too  kind." 

"  No,  I  'm  not,  Harry  ;  I  am  a  selfish  little  concern,  that 's 
a  fact,"  said  she,  turning  away,  and  pretending  not  to  see 
the  feeling  which  agitated  him. 

"  But,  Harry,  was  n't  it  droll,  this  morning,  when  all  our 
people  came  up  to  get  their  presents !  There  was  Aunt 
Sue,  and  Aunt  Tike,  and  Aunt  Kate,  each  one  got  a  new 
sack  pattern,  in  which  they  are  going  to  make  up  the  prints 
I  brought  them.  In  about  two  days  our  place  will  be  flam- 
ing with  aprons  and  sacks.  And  did  you  see  Aunt  Rose  in 
that  pink  bonnet,  with  the  flowers  ?  You  could  see  every 
tooth  in  her  head !  Of  course,  now  they  '11  be  taken  with  a 
very  pious  streak,  to  go  to  some  camp-meeting  or  other,  to 
show  their  finery.     Why  don't  you  laugh,  Harry  ?  " 

"I  do,  don't  I,  Miss  Nina?" 

"  You  only  laugh  on  your  face.  You  don't  laugh  deep 
down.  What 's  the  matter  ?  I  don't  believe  it 's  good  for 
you  to  read  and  study  so  much.  Papa  used  to  say  that  he 
did  n't  think  it  was  good  for  —  " 

She  stopped,  checked  by  the  expression  on  the  face  of  her 
listener. 

"For  servants,  Miss  Nina,  your  papa  said,  I  suppose." 


THE   MISTRESS    OF    CAXE1IA.  17 

With  the  quick  tact  of  her  sex,  Nina  perceived  that  she 
had  struck  some  disagreeable  chord  in  the  mind  of  her 
faithful  attendant,  and  she  hastened  to  change  the  subject, 
in  her  careless,  rattling  way. 

"  Why,  yes,  Harry,  study  is  horrid  for  yi  u,  or  me  either, 
or  anybody  else,  except  musty  old  people,  who  don't  know 
how  to  do  anything  else.  Did  ever  anybody  look  out  of 
doors,  such  a  pleasant  day  as  this,  and  want  to  study  ? 
Think  of  a  bird's  studying,  now,  or  a  bee  !  They  don't 
study  —  they  live.  Now,  I  don't  want  to  study  —  I  want 
to  live.  So,  now,  Harry,  if  you  '11  just  get  the  ponies  and 
go  in  the  woods,  I  want  to  get  some  jessamines,  and 
spring  beauties,  and  wild  honeysuckles,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  flowers  that  I  used  to  get  before  I  went  to  school." 
2* 


CHAPTER    II. 

CLAYTON. 

The  curtain  rises  on  our  next  scene,  and  discovers  a 
tranquil  library,  illuminated  by  the  slant  rays  of  the  after- 
noon's sun.  On  one  side  the  room  opened  by  long  glass 
windows  on  to  a  garden,  from  whence  the  air  came  in  per- 
fumed with  the  breath  of  roses  and  honeysuckles.  The 
floor  covered  with  white  matting,  the  couches  and  sofas 
robed  in  smooth  glazed  linen,  gave  an  air  of  freshness 
and  coolness  to  the  apartment.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  prints  of  the  great  master-pieces  of  European  art, 
while  bronzes  and  plaster-casts,  distributed  with  taste  and 
skill,  gave  evidence  of  artistic  culture  in  the  general  ar- 
rangement. Two  young  men  were  sitting  together  near 
the  opened  window  at  a  small  table,  which  displayed  an 
antique  coffee-set  of  silver,  and  a  silver  tray  of  ices  and 
fruits.  One  of  these  has  already  been  introduced  to  the 
notice  of  our  readers,  in  the  description  of  our  heroine  in 
the  last  chapter. 

Edward  Clayton,  the  only  son  of  Judge  Clayton,  and 
representative  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  distinguished 
families  of  North  Carolina,  was  in  personal  appearance 
much  what  our  lively  young  friend  had  sketched  —  tall, 
slender,  with  a  sort  of  loose-jointedness  and  carelessness  of 
dress,  which  might  have  produced  an  impression  of  clown- 
ishness,  had  it  not  been  relieved  by  a  refined  and  intel- 
lectual expression  on  the  head  and  face.  The  upper  part 
of  the  face  gave  the  impression  of  thoughtfulness  and 
strength,  with  a  shadowing  of  melancholy  earnestness  ;  and 


CLAYTON.  19 

there  was  about  the  eye,  in  conversation,  that  occasional 
gleam  of  troubled  wildness  which  betrays  the  hypochondriac 
temperament.  The  mouth  was  even  feminine  in  the  deli- 
cacy and  beauty  of  its  lines,  and  the  smile  which  sometimes 
played  around  it  had  a  peculiar  fascination.  It  seemed  to 
be  a  smile  of  but  half  the  man's  nature  ;  for  it  never  rose 
as  high  as  the  eyes,  or  seemed  to  disturb  the  dark  stillness 
of  their  thoughtfulness. 

The  other  speaker  was  in  many  respects  a  contrast ;  and 
we  will  introduce  him  to  our  readers  by  the  name  of  Frank 
Russel.  Furthermore,  for  their  benefit,  we  will  premise 
that  he  was  the  only  son  of  a  once  distinguished  and 
wealthy,  but  now  almost  decayed  family,  of  Virginia. 

It  is  supposed  by  many  that  friendship  is  best  founded 
upon  similarity  of  nature  ;  but  observation  teaches  that  it 
is  more  common  by  a  union  of  opposites,  in  which  each 
party  is  attracted  by  something  wanting  in  itself.  In  Clay- 
ton, the  great  preponderance  of  those  faculties  which  draw 
a  man  inward,  and  impair  the  efficiency  of  the  outwai-d  life, 
inclined  him  to  over-value  the  active  and  practical  faculties, 
because  he  saw  them  constantly  attended  with  a  kind  of 
success  which  he  fully  appreciated,  but  was  unable  to 
attain.  Perfect  ease  of  manner,  ready  presence  of  mind 
under  all  social  exigencies,  adroitness  in  making  the  most 
of  passing  occurrences,  are  qualities  which  are  seldom  the 
gift  of  sensitive  and  deeply-ihoughtful  natures,  and  which 
for  this  very  reason  they  arp  >ften  disposed  to  over-value. 
Russel  was  one  of  those  men  who  have  just  enough  of  all  the 
higher  faculties  to  appreciate  their  existence  in  others,  and 
not  enough  of  any  one  to  disturb  the  perfect  availability  of 
his  own  mind.  Everything  in  his  mental  furnishing  was 
always  completely  under  his  own  control,  and  on  hand  for 
use  at  a  moment's  notice.  From  infancy  he  was  noted  for 
quick  tact  and  ready  reply.  At  school  he  was  the  universal 
factotum,  the  "good  fellow"  of  the  ling,  heading  all  the 
mischief  among  the  boys,  and  yet  walking  with  exemplary 
gravity  on  the  blind  side  of  the  master.     Many  a  scrape 


20  CLAYTON. 

had  he  rescued  Clayton  from,  into  which  he  had  fallen  from 
a  more  fastidious  moral  sense,  a  more  scrupulous  honor, 
than  is  for  worldly  profit  either  in  the  boy's  or  man's 
sphere  ;  and  Clayton,  superior  as  he  was,  could  not  help 
loving  and  depending  on  him. 

The  diviner  part  of  man  is  often  shame-faced  and  self- 
distrustful,  ill  at  home  in  this  world,  and  standing  in  awe 
of  nothing  so  much  as  what  is  called  common  sense  ;  and 
yet  common  sense  very  often,  by  its  own  keenness,  is  able 
to  see  that  these  unavailable  currencies  of  another's  mind 
are  of  more  worth,  if  the  world  only  knew  it,  than  the 
ready  coin  of  its  own  ;  and  so  the  practical  and  the  ideal 
nature  are  drawn  together. 

So  Clayton  and  Russel  had  been  friends  from  boyhood  ; 
had  roomed  together  their  four  years  in  college  ;  and,  tho' 
instruments  of  a  vastly  different  quality,  had  hitherto  played 
the  concerts  of  life  with  scarce  a  discord. 

In  person,  Russel  was  of  about  the  medium  size,  with  a 
well-knit,  elastic  frame,  all  whose  movements  were  charac- 
terized by  sprightliness  and  energy.  lie  had  a  frank,  open 
countenance,  clear  blue  eyes,  a  high  forehead  shaded  by 
clusters  of  curling  brown  hair  ;  his  flexible  lips  wore  a 
good-natured  yet  half-sarcastic  smile.  His  feelings,  though 
not  inconveniently  deep,  were  easily  touched  ;  he  could  be 
moved  to  tears  or  to  smiles,  with  the  varying  humor  of  a 
friend  ;  but  never  so  far  as  to  lose  his  equipoise  —  or,  as  he 
phrased  it,  forget  what  he  was  about. 

But  we  linger  too  long  in  description.  We  had  better  let 
the  reader  hear  the  dramatis  personce ,  and  judge  for  himself. 

"  Well,  now,  Clayton,"  said  Russel,  as  he  leaned  back  in 
a  stuffed  leather  chair,  with  a  cigar  between  his  fingers, 
"  how  considerate  of  them  to  go  off  on  that  marooning  party, 
and  leave  us  to  ourselves,  here  !  I  say,  old  boy,  how  goes 
the  world  now?  —  Reading  law,  hey  ?■ — booked  to  be  Judge 
Clayton  the  second  !  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  if  I  had  the 
opportunities  that  you  have  —  only  to  step  into  my  father's 
shoes  —  I  should  be  a  lucky  fellow." 


CLAYTON.  21 

"  Well,  you  are  welcome  to  all  my  chances/'  said  Clay- 
ton, throwing  himself  on  one  of  the  lounges  ;  "for  I  begin 
to  see  that  I  shall  make  very  little  of  them." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  ? — Don't  you  like  the  study  ?  " 

"The  study,  perhaps,  well  enough  —  but  not  the  prac- 
tice. Reading  the  theory  is  always  magnificent  and  grand. 
'  Law  hath  her  seat  in  the  bosom  of  God  ;  her  voice  is  the 
harmony  of  the  world.'  You  remember  we  used  to  declaim 
that.  But,  then,  come  to  the  practice  of  it,  and  what  do 
you  find  ?  Are  legal  examinations  anything  like  searching 
after  truth  ?  Does  not  an  advocate  commit  himself  to  one- 
sided views  of  his  subject,  and  habitually  ignore  all  the 
truth  on  the  other  side  ?  Why,  if  I  practised  law  accord- 
ing to  my  conscience,  I  should  be  chased  out  of  court  in  a 
week." 

"  There  you  are,  again,  Clayton,  with  your  everlasting 
conscience,  which  has  been  my  plague  ever  since  you  were 
a  boy,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to  convince  you  what 
a  humbug  it  is  !  It's  what  I  call  a  crotchety  conscience  — 
always  in  the  way  of  your  doing  anything  like  anybody 
else.  I  suppose,  then,  of  course,  you  won't  go  into  polit- 
ical life.  —  Great  pity,  too.  You'd  make  a  very  imposing 
figure  as  senator.  You  have  exactly  the  cut  for  a  conscript 
father  —  one  of  the  old  Viri  Romas." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  the  old  Viri  Rom»  would  do  in 
Washington  ?  What  sort  of  a  figure  do  you  think  Regulus, 
or  Quintus  Curtius,  or  Mucius  Scasvola,  would  make,  there?" 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  the  style  of  political  action  has  altered 
somewhat  since  those  days.  If  political  duties  were  what 
they  were  then, — if  a  gulf  would  open  in  Washington,  for 
example,  —  you  would  be  the  fellow  to  plunge  in,  horse  and 
all,  for  the  good  of  the  republic  ;  or,  if  anything  was  to  be 
done  by  putting  your  right  hand  in  the  fire  and  burning  it 
off —  or,  if  there  were  any  Carthaginians  who  would  cut  off 
your  eyelids,  or  roll  you  down  hill  in  a  barrel  of  nails,  for 
truth  and  your  country's  sake,  —  you  would  be  on  hand  for 
any  such  matter.     That 's  the  sort  of  foreign  embassy  that 


22  CLAYTON. 

you  would  be  after.  All  these  old-fashioned  goings  on  would 
suit  you  to  a  T ;  but  as  to  figuring  in  purple  and  fine  linen, 
in  Paris  or  London,  as  American  minister,  you  would  make 
a  dismal  business  of  it.  But,  still,  I  thought  you  might 
practise  law  in  a  wholesome,  sensible  way,  —  take  fees,  make 
pleas  with  abundance  of  classical  allusions,  show  off  your 
scholarship,  marry  a  rich  wife,  and  make  your  children 
princes  in  the  gates  —  all  without  treading  on  the  toes  of 
your  too  sensitive  moral  what-d'-ye-call-ems.  But  you  ?ve 
done  one  thing  like  other  folks,  at  least,  if  all 's  true  that 
I  've  heard." 

"  And  what  is  that,  pray  ?  " 

"  What 's  that  ?  Hear  the  fellow,  now  !  How  innocent 
we  are  !  I  suppose  you  think  I  have  n't  heard  of  your  cam- 
paign in  New  York  —  carrying  off  that  princess  of  little  flirts, 
Miss  Gordon." 

Clayton  responded  to  the  charge  only  with  a  slight  shrug 
and  a  smile,  in  which  not  only  his  lips  but  his  eyes  took  part, 
while  the  color  mounted   to   his  forehead. 

"  Now,  do  you  know,  Clayton,"  continued  Russel,  "  I  like 
that.  Do  you  know  I  always  thought  I  should  detest  the 
woman  that  you  should  fall  in  love  with  ?  It  seemed  to  me 
that  such  a  portentous  combination  of  all  the  virtues  as  you 
were  planning  for  would  be  something  like  a  comet  —  an 
alarming  spectacle.  Do  you  remember  (I  should  like  to  know, 
if  you  do)  just  what  that  woman  was  to  be  ? — was  to  have 
all  the  learning  of  a  man,  all  the  graces  of  a  woman  (I  think 
I  have  it  by  heart) ;  she  was  to  be  practical,  poetical,  pious, 
and  everything  else  that  begins  with  a  p ;  she  was  to  be 
elegant  and  earnest ;  take  deep  and  extensive  views  of  life  ; 
and  there  was  to  be  a  certain  air  about  her,  half  Madonna, 
half  Venus,  made  of  every  creature's  best.  Ah,  bless  us  ! 
what  poor  creatures  we  are  !  Here  comes  along  our  little 
coquette,  flirting,  tossing  her  fan  ;  picks  you  up  like  a  great, 
solid  chip,  as  you  are,  and  throws  you  into  her  chip-basket 
of  beaux,  and  goes  on  dancing  and  flirting  as  before.  Are  n't 
you  ashamed  of  it,  now  ?  " 


CLAYTON.  23 

"No.  I. am  really  much  like  the  minister  in  our  town, 
where  we  fitted  for  college,  who  married  a  pretty  Polly 
Peters  in  his  sixtieth  year,  and,  when  the  elders  came  to 
inquire  if  she  had  the  requisite  qualifications  for  a  pastor's 
lady,  he  told  them  that  he  did  n't  think  she  had.  '  But  the 
fact  is,  brethren/  said  he,  '  though  I  don't  pretend  she  is  a 
saint,  she  is  a  very  pretty  little  sinner,  and  I  love  her.' 
That 's  just  my  case." 

"Very  sensibly  said;  and,  do  you  know,  as  I  told  you 
before,  I  'm  perfectly  delighted  with  it,  because  it  is  acting 
like  other  fulks.  But,  then,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  think 
you  have  come  to  anything  really  solid  with  this  little  Venus 
of  the  sea-foam  ?  Is  n't  it  much  the  same  as  being  engaged 
to  a  cloud,  or  a  butterfly  ?  One  wants  a  little  streak  of  reality 
about  a  person  that  one  must  take  for  better  or  for  worse. 
You  have  a'  deep  nature,  Clayton.  You  really  want  a  wife 
who  will  have  some  glimmering  perception  of  the  difference 
between  you  and  the  other  things  that  walk  and  wear  coats, 
and  are  called  men." 

"Well,  then,  really,"  said  Clayton,  rousing  himself,  and 
speaking  with  energy,  "  I  '11  tell  you  just  what  it  is  :  Nina 
Gordon  is  a  flirt  and  a  coquette  —  a  spoiled  child,  if  you  will. 
She  is  not  at  all  the  person  I  ever  expected  would  obtain  any 
power  over  me.  She  has  no  culture,  no  reading,  no  habits 
of  reflection  ;  but  she  has,  after  all,  a  certain  tone  and  quality 
to  her,  a  certain  '  timbre,'  as  the  French  say  of  voices,  which 
suits  me.  There  is  about  her  a  mixture  of  energy,  individual- 
ity, and  shrewdness,  which  makes  her,  all  uninformed  as  she 
is,  more  piquant  and  attractive  than  any  woman  I  ever  fell  in 
with.  She  never  reads  ;  it  is  almost  impossible  to  get  her  to 
read  ;  but,  if  you  can  catch  her  ear  for  five  minutes,  her  liter- 
ary judgments  have  a  peculiar  freshness  and  truth.  And  so 
with  her  judgment  on  all  other  subjects,  if  you  can  stop  .Vr 
long  enough  to  give  you  an  opinion.  As  to  heart,  I  think  she 
has  yet  a  wholly  unawakened  nature.  She  has  lived  only 
in  the  world  of  sensation,  and  that  is  so  abundant  and  so 
buoyant  in  her  that  the  deeper  part  still  sleeps.     It  is  only 


24  CLAYTON. 

two  or  three  times  that  I  have  seen  a  flash  of  this  under 
nature  look  from  her  eyes,  and  color  her  voice  and  intona- 
tion. And  I  believe  —  I  'm  quite  sure  —  that  I  am  the  only 
person  in  the  world  that  ever  touched  it  at  all.  I  'm  not  at 
all  sure  that  she  loves  me  now ;  but  I  'm  almost  equally  sure 
that  she  will." 

"  They  say,"  said  Russel,  carelessly,  "that  she  is  gener- 
ally engaged  to  two  or  three  at  a  time." 

"  That  may  be  also,"  said  Clayton,  indolently.  "  I  rather 
suspect  it  to  be  the  case  now,  but  it  gives  me  no  concern. 
1 've  seen  all  the  men  by  whom  she  is  surrounded,  and  I 
know  perfectly  well  there  's  not  one  of  them  that  she  cares 
a  rush  for." 

"  Well,  but,  my  dear  fellow,  how  can  your  extra  fastidious 
moral  notions  stand  the  idea  of  her  practising  this  system 
of  deception,?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  it  is  n't  a  thing  to  my  taste  ;  but,  then, 
like  the  old  parson,  if  I  love  the  '  little  sinner,'  what  am  I  to 
do  ?  I  suppose  you  think  it  a  lover's  paradox  ;  yet  I  assure 
you,  though  she  deceives,  she  is  not  deceitful ;  though  she 
acts  selfishly,  she  is  not  selfish.  The  fact  is,  the  child  has 
grown  up,  motherless  and  an  heiress,  among  servants.  She 
has,  I  believe,  a  sort  of  an  aunt,  or  some  such  relative,  who 
nominally  represents  the  head  of  the  family  to  the  eye  of  the 
world.  But  I  fancy  little  madam  has  had  full  sway.  Then 
she  has  been  to  a  fashionable  New  York  boarding-school, 
and  that  has  developed  the  talent  of  shirking  lessons,  and 
evading  rules,  with  a  taste  for  side-walk  flirtation.  These 
are  all  the  attainments  that  I  ever  heard  of  being  got  at  a 
fashionable  boarding-school,  unless  it  be  a  hatred  of  books, 
and  a  general  dread  of  literary  culture." 

"  And  her  estates  are  —  " 

"  Nothing  very  considerable.  Managed  nominally  by  an 
old  uncle  of  hers  ;  really  by  a  very  clever  quadroon  servant, 
who  was  left  her  by  her  father,  and  who  has  received  an 
education,  and  has  talents  very  superior  to  what  are  common 
to  those  in  his  class.     He  is,  in  fact,  the  overseer  of  her 


CLAYTON.  25 

plantation,  and  I  believe  the  most  loyal,  devoted  creature 
breathing." 

"  Clayton,"  said  his  companion,  "  this  affair  might  not  be 
much  to  one  who  takes  the  world  as  I  do,  but  for  you  it  may 
be  a  little  too  serious.     Don't  get  in  beyond  your  depth." 

"You  are  too  late,  Russel,  for  that  —  I  am  in." 

"  Well,  then,  good  luck  to  you,  my  dear  fellow !  And 
now,  as  we  are  about  it,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  'm  in 
for  it,  too.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Miss  Benoir,  of 
Baltimore.     Well,  she  is  my  fate." 

"  And  are  you  really  engaged  ?  " 

"  All  signed  and  sealed,  and  to  be  delivered  next  Christ- 
mas." 

"  Let 's  hear  about  her." 

"  Well,  she  is  of  a  good  height  (I  always  said  I  shouldn't 
marry  a  short  woman), — not  handsome,  but  reasonably 
well-looking  —  very  fine  manners  —  knows  the  world  — 
plays  and  sings  handsomely  —  has  a  snug  little  fortune. 
Now,  you  know  I  never  held  to  marrying  for  money  and 
nothing  else  ;  but,  then,  as  I  'm  situated,  I  could  not  have 
fallen  in  love  without  that  requisite.  Some  people  call  this 
heartless.  I  don't  think  it  is.  If  I  had  met  Mary  Benoir, 
and  had  known  that  she  had  n't  anything,  why,  I  should 
have  known  that  it  would  n't  do  for  me  at  all  to  cultivate 
any  particular  intimacy  ;  but,  knowing  she  had  fortune,  I 
looked  a  little  further,  and  found  she  had  other  things,  too. 
Now,  if  that 's  marrying  for  money,  so  be  it.  Yours,  Clay, 
ton,  is  a  genuine  case  of  falling  in  love.  But,  as  for  me,  I 
walked  in  with  my  eyes  wide  open." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  in  the  world, 
Eussel  ?  " 

"I  must  get  into  practice,  and  get  some  foothold  there, 
you  know ;  and  then,  hey  for  Washington  !  —  I  'm  to  be  pres- 
ident, like  every  other  adventurer  in  these  United  States. 
Why  not  I,  as  well  as  another  man  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  certainly,"  said  Clayton,  "if  you  want 
it,  and  are  willing  to  work  hard  enough  and  long  enough, 
3 


26  CLAYTON. 

and  pay  all  the  price.  I  would  as  soon  spend  my  life  walk- 
ing the  drawn  sword  which  they  say  is  the  bridge  to  Ma- 
homet's paradise." 

"Ah!  ah!  I  fancy  I  see  you  doing  it!  What  a  figure 
you  'd  make,  my  dear  fellow,  balancing  and  posturing  on 
the  sword-blade,  and  making  horrid  wry  faces  !  Yet  I  know 
you  'd  be  as  comfortable  there  as  you  would  in  political  life. 
And  yet,  after  all,  you  are  greatly  superior  to  me  in  every 
respect.  It  would  be  a  thousand  pities  if  such  a  man  as 
you  couldn't  have  the  management  of  things.  But  our 
national  ship  has  to  be  navigated  by  second-rate  fellows, 
Jerry-go-nimbles,  like  me,  simply  because  we  are  good  in 
dodging  and  turning.  But  that 's  the  way.  Sharp  's  the 
word,  and  the  sharpest  wins." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Clayton,  "  I  shall  never  be  what  the 
world  calls  a  successful  man.  There  seems  to  be  one  in- 
scription written  over  every  passage  of  success  in  life,  as 
far  as  I  've  seen,  —  '  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  '  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Clayton." 

"  Why,  it  seems  to  me  just  this.  As  matters  are  going 
on  now  in  our  country,  I  must  either  lower  my  standard  of 
right  and  honor,  and  sear  my  soul  in  all  its  nobler  sensibil- 
ities, or  I  must  be  what  the  world  calls  an  unsuccessful  man. 
There  is  no  path  in  life,  that  I  know  of,  where  humbuggery 
and  fraud  and  deceit  are  not  essential  to  success  —  none 
where  a  man  can  make  the  purity  of  his  moral  nature  the  first 
object.  I  see  Satan  standing  in  every  avenue,  saying,-  '  All 
these  things  will  I  give  thee,  if  thou  wilt  fall  down  and  wor- 
ship me.'  " 

"  Why  don't  you  take  to  the  ministry,  then,  Clayton,  at 
once,  and  put  up  a  pulpit-cushion  and  big  Bible  between  you 
and  the  fiery  darts  of  the  devil  ? " 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  should  meet  him  there,  too.  I  could  not 
gain  a  right  to  speak  in  any  pulpit  without  some  profession 
or  pledge  to  speak  this  or  that,  that  would  be  a  snare  to 
my  conscience,  by  and  by.     At  the  door  of  every  pulpit  I 


CLAYTON.  27 

must  swear  always  to  find  truth  in  a  certain  formula ;  and 
living,  prosperity,  success,  reputation,  will  all  be  pledged 
on  my  finding  it  there.  I  tell  you  I  should,  if  I  followed 
my  own  conscience,  preach  myself  out  of  pulpits  quicker 
than  I  should  plead  out  at  the  bar." 

"Lord  help  you,  Clayton!  What  will  you  do?  Will 
you  settle  down  on  your  plantation,  and  raise  cotton  and 
sell  niggers  ?  I  'm  expecting  to  hear,  every  minute,  that 
you  've  subscribed  for  the  Liberator,  and  are  going  to  turn 
Abolitionist." 

"  I  do  mean  to  settle  down  on  my  plantation,  but  not  to 
raise  cotton  or  negroes  as  a  chief  end  of  man.  I  do  take 
the  Liberator,  because  I  'rn  a  free  man,  and  have  a  right  to 
take  what  I  have  a  mind  to.  I  don't  agree  with  Garrison, 
because  I  think  I  know  more  about  the  matter,  where  I 
stand,  than  he  does,  or  can,  where  he  stands.  But  it 's  his 
right,  as  an  honest  man,  to  say  what  he  thinks  ;  and  I 
should  use  it  in  his  place.  If  I  saw  things  as  he  does,  I 
should  be  an  Abolitionist.     But  I  don't." 

"That's  a  mercy,  at  least,"  said  Russel,  "to  a  man 
with  your  taste  for  martyrdom.  But  what  are  you  going 
to  do  ?  " 

"  What  any  Christian  man  should  do  who  finds  four  hun- 
dred odd  of  his  fellow  men  and  women  placed  in  a  state  of 
absolute  dependence  on  him.  I  'in  going  to  educate  and  fit 
them  for  freedom.  There  is  n't  a  sublimer  power  on  earth 
than  God  has  given  to  us  masters.  The  law  gives  us  abso- 
lute and  unlimited  control.  A  plantation  such  as  a  planta- 
tion might  be  would  be  'alight  to  lighten  the  gentiles.' 
There  is  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  development  locked  up 
in  this  Ethiopian  race,  and  it  is  worth  being  a  life-object  to 
unlock  it.  The  raising  of  cotton  is  to  be  the  least  of  the 
thing.  I  regard  my  plantation  as  a  sphere  for  raising  men 
and  women,  and  demonstrating  the  capabilities  of  a  race." 

"  Selah  !  "  said  Russel. 

Clayton  looked  angry. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Clayton.     This  is  all  superb,  sub- 


28  CLAYTON. 

lime  !  There  is  just  one  objection  to  it  —  it  is  wholly  im- 
possible." 

"  Every  good  and  great  thing  has  been  called  impossible 
before  it  is  done." 

"  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  Clayton,  just  how  it  will  be.  You 
will  be  a  mark  for  arrows,  both  sides.  You  will  offend  all 
your  neighbors  by  doing  better  than  they  do.  You  will 
bring  your  negroes  up  to  a  point  in  which  they  will  meet 
the  current  of  the  whole  community  against  them,  and 
meanwhile  you  will  get  no  credit  with  the  Abolitionists. 
They  will  call  you  a  cut-throat,  pirate,  sheep-stealer,  and  all 
the  rest  of  their  elegant  little  list  of  embellishments,  all  the 
same.  You  '11  get  a  state  of  things  that  nobody  can  man- 
age but  yourself,  and  you  by  the  hardest ;  and  then  you  '11 
die,  and  it  '11  all  run  to  the  devil  faster  than  you  run  it  up. 
Now,  if  you  would  do  the  thing  by  halves,  it  would  n't  be 
so  bad  ;  but  I  know  you  of  old.  You  won't  be  satisfied  with 
teaching  a  catechism  and  a  few  hymns,  parrot-wise,  which  I 
think  is  a  respectable  religious  amusement  for  our  women. 
You  '11  teach  'em  all  to  read,  and  write,  and  think,  and 
speak.  I  should  n't  wonder  to  hear  of  an  importation  of 
black-boards  and  spelling-books.  You  '11  want  a  lyceum 
and  debating  society.  Pray,  what  does  sister  Anne  say  to 
all  this  ?  Anne  is  a  sensible  girl  now,  but  I  '11  warrant 
you've  got  her  to  go  in  for  it." 

"  Anne  is  as  much  interested  as  I,  but  her  practical  tact 
is  greater  than  mine,  and  she  is  of  use  in  detecting  difficul- 
ties that  I  do  not  see.  I  have  an  excellent  man,  who  enters 
fully  into  my  views,  who  takes  charge  of  the  business 
interests  of  the  plantation,  instead  of  one  of  these  scoun- 
drel overseers.  There  is  to  be  a  graduated  system  of  work 
and  wages  introduced  —  a  system  that  shall  teach  the 
nature  and  rights  of  property,  and  train  to  habits  of  indus- 
try and  frugality,  by  making  every  man's  acquirements 
equal  to  his  industry  and  good  conduct." 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  support  do  you  expect  to  make  out 


CLAYTON.  29 

of  all  this  ?     Are  you  going'  to  live  for  them,  or  they  for 


you 


?  » 


"  I  shall  set  them  the  example  of  living  for  them,  and 
trust  to  awaken  the  good  that  is  in  them,  in  return.  The 
strong  ought  to  live  for  the  weak  —  the  cultivated  for  the 
ignorant." 

"  Well,  Clayton,  the  Lord  help  you  !  I  'm  in  earnest  now 
—  fact !  Though  I  know  you  won't  do  it,  yet  I  wish  you 
could.  It 's  a  pity,  Clayton,  you  were  born  in  this  world.  It 
is  n't  you,  but  our  planet  and  planetary  ways,  that  are  in 
fault.  Your  mind  is  a  splendid  store-house — -gold  and  gems 
of  Ophir  —  but  they  are  all  up  in  the  fifth  story,  and  no 
staircase  to  get  'em  down  into  common  life.  Now,  I  've  just 
enough  appreciation  of  the  sort  of  thing  that 's  in  you,  not  to 
laugh  at  you.  Nine  out  of  ten  would.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
if  I  were  already  set  up  in  life,  and  had  as  definite  a  position 
as  you  have,  — family,  friends,  influence,  and  means,  —  why, 
perhaps  I  might  afford  to  cultivate  this  style  of  thing.  But, 
I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Clayton,  such  a  conscience  as  yours  is 
cursedly  expensive  to  keep.  It 's  like  a  carriage  —  a  fellow 
must  n't  set  it  up  unless  he  can  afford  it.  It 's  one  of  the 
luxuries." 

"It's  a  necessary  of  life,  with  me,"  said  Clayton,  dryly. 

"  Well,  that 's  your  nature.  I  can't  afford  it.  I  've  got 
my  way  to  make,  I  must  succeed,  and  with  your  ultra 
notions  I  could  n't  succeed.  So  there  it  is.  After  all,  I 
can  be  as  religious  as  dozens  of  your  most  respectable 
men,  who  have  taken  their  seats  in  the  night-train  for 
Paradise,  and  keep  the  daylight  for  their  own  business." 

"  I  dare  say  you  can." 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  get  all  I  aim  at ;  and  you,  Clayton,  will 
be  always  an  unhappy,  dissatisfied  aspirant  after  something 
too  high  for  mortality.  There  's  just  the  difference  between 
us." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  return  of 
the  family  party. 
3* 


CHAPTEE    III. 

THE   CLAYTON   FAMILY   AND    SISTEE   ANNE. 

The  family  party  which  was  now  ushered  in,  consisted 
of  Clayton's  father,  mother,  and  sister.  Judge  Clayton  was 
a  tall,  dignified,  elderly  personage,  in  whom  one  recognized, 
at  a  glance,  the  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  His  hair, 
snowy  white,  formed  a  singular  contrast  with  the  bright- 
ness of  his  blue  eyes,  whose  peculiar  acuteness  of  glance 
might  remind  one  of  a  falcon.  There  was  something  stately 
in  the  position  of  the  head  and  the  carriage  of  the  figure, 
and  a  punctilious  exactness  in  the  whole  air  and  manner, 
that  gave  one  a  slight  impression  of  sternness.  The  clear, 
sharp  blue  of  his  eye  seemed  to  be  that  of  a  calm  and 
decided  intellect,  of  a  logical  severity  of  thought ;  and  con- 
trasted with  the  silvery  hair  with  that  same  expression  of 
cold  beauty  that  is  given  by  the  contrast  of  snow  mountains 
cutting  into  the  keen,  metallic  blue  of  an  Alpine  sky.  One 
should  apprehend  much  to  fear  from  such  a  man's  reason  — 
little  to  hope  from  any  outburst  of  his  emotional  nature. 
Yet,  as  a  man,  perhaps  injustice  was  done  to  Judge  Clay- 
ton by  this  first  impression  ;  for  there  was,  deep  beneath 
this  external  coldness,  a  severely-repressed  nature,  of  the 
most  fiery  and  passionate  vehemence.  His  family  affections 
were  strong  and  tender,  seldom  manifested  in  words,  but 
always  by  the  most  exact  appreciation  and  consideration 
for  all  who  came  within  his  sphere.  He  was  strictly  and 
impartially  just  in  all  the  little  minutiae  of  social  and  domes- 
tic life,  never  hesitating  to  speak  a  truth,  or  acknowledge 
an  error. 


THE    CLAYTON   FAMILY.  31 

Mrs.  Clayton  was  a  high-bred,  elderly  lady,  whose  well- 
preserved  delicacy  of  complexion,  brilliant  dark  eyes,  and 
fine  figure,  spoke  of  a  youth  of  beauty.  Of  a  nature  im- 
aginative, impulsive,  and  ardent,  inclining  constantly  to 
generous  extremes,  she  had  thrown  herself  with  passionate 
devotion  round  her  clear-judging  husband,  as  the  Alpine 
_rose  girdles  with  beauty  the  breast  of  the  bright,  pure 
glacier. 

Between  Clayton  and  his  father  there  existed  an  affection 
deep  and  entire  ;  yet,  as  the  son  developed  to  manhood,  it 
became  increasingly  evident  that  they  could  never  move 
harmoniously  in  the  same  practical  orbit.  The  nature  of 
the  son  was  so  veined  and  crossed  with  that  of  the  mother, 
that  the  father,  in  attempting  the  age-long  and  often-tried 
experiment  of  making  his  child  an  exact  cop}'  of  himself, 
found  himself  extremely  puzzled  and  confused  in  the  oper- 
ation. Clayton  was  ideal  to  an  excess  ;  ideality  colored 
every  faculty  of  his  mind,  and  swayed  all  his  reasonings,  as 
an  unseen  magnet  will  swerve  the  needle.  Ideality  per- 
vaded his  conscientiousness,  urging  him  always  to  rise 
above  the  commonly-received  and  so-called  practical  in 
morals.  Hence,  while  he  worshipped  the  theory  of  law,  the 
practice  filled  him  with  disgust ;  and  his  father  was  obliged 
constantly  to  point  out  deficiencies  in  reasonings,  founded 
more  on  a  keen  appreciation  of  what  things  ought  to  be,  than 
on  a  practical  regard  to  what  they  are.  Nevertheless,  Clay- 
ton partook  enough  of  his  father's  strong  and  steady  nature 
to  be  his  mother's  idol,  who,  perhaps,  loved  this  second 
rendering  of  the  parental  nature  with  even  more  doting 
tenderness  than  the  first. 

Anne  Clayton  was  the  eldest  of  three  sisters,  and  the 
special  companion  and  confidant  of  the  brother  ;  and,  as 
she  stands  there  untying  her  bonnet-strings,  we  must  also 
present  her  to  the  reader.  She  is  a  little  above  the  medium 
height,  with  that  breadth  and  full  development  of  chest 
which  one  admires  in  English  women.  She  carries  her 
well-formed  head  on  her   graceful   shoulders  with  a  posi- 


32  THE    CLAYTON   FAMILY. 

tive,  decided  air,  only  a  little  on  this  side  of  haughtiness. 
Her  clear  brown  complexion  reddens  into  a  fine  glow  in 
the  cheek,  giving  one  the  impression  of  sound,  perfect 
health.  The  positive  outline  of  the  small  aquiline  nose, 
the  large,  frank,  well-formed  mouth,  with  its  clear  rows  of 
shining  teeth,  the  brown  eyes,  which  have  caught  some- 
thing of  the  falcon  keenness  of  the  father,  are  points  in  the 
picture  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked.  Taking  her  air  alto- 
gether, there  was  an  honest  frankness  about  her  which 
encouraged  conversation,  and  put  one  instantly  at  ease. 
Yet  no  man  in  his  senses  could  ever  venture  to  take  the 
slightest  liberty  with  Anne  Clayton.  With  all  her  frank- 
ness, there  was  ever  in  her  manner  a  perfectly-defined 
"thus  far  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  further."  Beaux,  suit- 
ors, lovers  in  abundance,  had  stood,  knelt,  and  sighed  pro- 
testing, at  her  shrine.  Yet  Anne  Clayton  was  twenty-seven, 
and  unmarried.  Everybody  wondered  why  ;  and  as  to  that, 
we  can  only  wonder  with  the  rest.  Her  own  account  of 
the  matter  was  simple  and  positive.  She  did  not  wish  to 
marry  —  was  happy  enough  without. 

The  intimacy  between  the  brother  and  sister  had  been 
more  than  usually  strong,  notwithstanding  marked  differ- 
ences of  character  ;  for  Anne  had  not  a  particle  of  ideality. 
Sense  she  had,  shrewdness,  and  a  pleasant  dash  of  humor, 
withal ;  but  she  was  eminently  what  people  call  a  practical 
girl.  She  admired  highly  the  contrary  of  all  this  in  her 
brother  ;  she  delighted  in  the  poetic-heroic  element  in  him, 
for  much  the  same  reason  that  young  ladies  used  to  admire 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  and  William  Wallace — because  it 
was  something  quite  out  of  her  line.  In  the  whole  world 
of  ideas  she  had  an  almost  idolatrous  veneration  for  her 
brother  ;  in  the  sphere  of  practical  operations  she  felt  free 
to  assert,  with  a  certain  good-natured  positiveness,  her  own 
superiority.  There  was  no  one  in  the  world,  perhaps,  of 
whose  judgment  in  this  respect  Clayton  stood  more  in  awe. 

At  the  present  juncture  of  affairs  Clayton  felt  himself 
rather  awkwardly  embarrassed  in  communicating  to  her  an 


THE    CLAYTON    FAMILY.  33 

event  which  she  would  immediately  feel  she  had  a  right 
to  know  before.  A  sister  of  Anne  Clayton's  positive  char- 
acter does  not  usually  live  twenty-seven  years  in  constant 
intimacy  with  a  brother  like  Clayton,  without  such  an  attach- 
ment as  renders  the  first  announcement  of  a  contemplated 
marriage  somewhat  painful.  Why,  then,  had  Clayton,  who 
always  unreservedly  corresponded  with  his  sister,  not  kept 
her  apprised  of  his  gradual  attachment  to  Nina  ?  The  secret 
of  the  matter  was,  that  he  had  had  an  instinctive  conscious- 
ness that  he  could  not  present  Nina  to  the  practical,  clear- 
judging  mind  of  his  sister,  as  she  appeared  through  the  mist 
and  spray  of  his  imaginative  nature.  The  hard  facts  of  her 
case  would  be  sure  to  tell  against  her  in  any  communication 
he  might  make  ;  and  sensitive  people  never  like  the  fatigue 
of  justifying  their  instincts.  Nothing,  in  fact,  is  less  capable 
of  being  justified  by  technical  reasons  than  those  fine  in- 
sights into  character  whereupon  affection  is  built.  We  have 
all  had  experience  of  preferences  which  would  not  follow 
the  most  exactly  ascertained  catalogue  of  virtues,  and  would 
be  made  captive  where  there  was  very  little  to  be  said  in 
justification  of  the  captivity. 

But,  meanwhile,  rumor,  always  busy,  had  not  failed  to 
convey  to  Anne  Clayton  some  suspicions  of  what  was  pass- 
ing ;  and,  though  her  delicacy  and  pride  forbade  any  allusion 
to  it,  she  keenly  felt  the  want  of  confidence,  and  of  course 
was  not  any  more  charitably  disposed  towards  the  little 
rival  for  this  reason.  But  now  the  matter  had  attained  such 
a  shape  in  Clayton's  mind  that  he  felt  the  necessity  of  ap- 
prising his  family  and  friends.  With  his  mother  the  task 
was  made  easier  by  the  abundant  hopefulness  of  her  nature, 
which  enabled  her  in  a  moment  to  throw  herself  into  the 
sympathies  of  those  she  loved.  To  her  had  been  deputed 
the  office  of  first  breaking  the  tidings  to  Anne,  and  she  had 
accomplished  it  during  the  pleasure-party  of  the  morning. 

The  first  glance  that  passed  between  Clayton  and  his  sis- 
ter, as  she  entered  the  room,  on  her  return  from  the  party, 
showed  him  that  she  was  discomposed  and  unhappy.     She 


34  THE   CLAYTON   FAMILY. 

did  not  remain  long  in  the  apartment,  or  seem  disposed  to 
join  in  conversation ;  and,  after  a  few  abstracted  moments, 
she  passed  through  the  open  door  into  the  garden,  and  began 
to  busy  herself  apparently  among  her  plants.  Clayton  fol- 
lowed her.  He  came  and  stood  silently  beside  her  for  some 
time,  watching  her  as  she  picked  the  dead  leaves  off  her 
geranium. 

"  Mother  has  told  you,"  he  said,  at  length. 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  Anne  picked  off  dry  leaves 
and  green  promiscuously;  threatening  to  demolish  the 
bush. 

"Anne,"  said  Clayton,  "howl  wish  you  could  see  her!" 

"I  've  heard  of  her,"  replied  Anne,  dryly,  "through  the 
Livingstons." 

"  And  what  have  you  heard  ?  "  said  Clayton,  eagerly. 

"Not  such  things  as  I  could  wish,  Edward  ;  not  such  as 
I  expected  to  hear  of  the  lady  that  you  would  choose." 

"  And,  pray,  what  have  you  heard?  Out  with  it,"  said 
Clayton,  —  "  let 's  know  what  the  world  says  of  her." 

"  Well,  the  world  says,"  said  Anne,  "  that  she  is  a 
coquette,  a  flirt,  a  jilt.  Prom  all  I  ;ve  heard,  I  should  think 
she  must  be  an  unprincipled  girl." 

"  That  is  hard  language,  Anne." 

"Truth  is  generally  hard,"  replied  Anne. 

"My  dear  sister/'  said  Clayton,  taking  her  hand,  and 
seating  her  on  the  seat  in  the  garden,  "have  you  lost  all 
faith  in  me  ? " 

"  1  think  it  would  be  nearer  truth,"  replied  Anne,  "  to  say 
that  you  had  lost  all  faith  in  me.  Why  am  I  the  last  one  to 
know  all  this  ?  Why  am  I  to  hear  it  first  from  reports,  and 
every  way  but  from  you?.  Would  I  have  treated  you  so  ? 
Did  I  ever  have  anything  that  I  did  not  tell  you  ?  Down  to 
my  very  soul  I  we  always  told  you  everything  !  " 

"  This  is  true,  I  own,  dear  Anne  ;  but  what  if  you  had  loved 
some  man  that  you  felt  sure  I  should  not  like  ?  Now,  you 
are  a  positive  person,  Anne,  and  this  might  happen.    Would 


THE   CLAYTON   FAMILY.  35 

you  want  to  tell  me  at  once  ?  Would  you  not,  perhaps,  wait, 
and  hesitate,  and  put  off,  for  one  reason  or  another,  from 
day  to  day,  and  find  it  grow  more  and  more  difficult,  the 
longer  you  waited  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,"  said  Anne,  bitterly.  "  I  never  did  love 
any  one  better  than  you,  —  that's  the  trouble." 

"  Neither  do  I  love  anybody  better  than  you,  Anne.  The 
love  I  have  for  you  is  a  whole,  perfect  thing,  just  as  it  was. 
See  if  you  do  not  find  me  every  way  as  devoted.  My 
heart  was  only  opened  to  take  in  another  love,  another 
wholly  different ;  and  which,  because  it  is  so  wholly  different, 
never  can  infringe  on  the  love  I  bear  to  you.  And,  Anne, 
my  dear  sister,  if  you  could  love  her  as  a  part  of  me —  " 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Anne,  somewhat  softened  ;  "  but 
what  I  've  heard  has  been  so  unfavorable  !  She  is  not,  in 
the  least,  the  person  I  should  have  expected  you  to  fancy, 
Edward.  Of  all  things  I  despise  a  woman  who  trifles  with 
the  affections  of  gentlemen." 

"  Well,  but,  my  dear,  Nina  is  n't  a  woman  ;  she  is  a  child 
—  a  gay,  beautiful,  unformed  child ;  and  I  'm  sure  you 
may  apply  to  her  what  Pope  says  : 

'  If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 
Look  in  her  face,  and  you  forget  them  all.' " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Anne,  "I  believe  all  you  men  are 
alike  —  a  pretty  face  bewitches  any  of  you.  I  thought  you 
were  an  exception,  Edward  ;  but  there  you  are." 

"But,  Anne,  is  this  the  way  to  encourage  my  confi- 
dence ?  Suppose  I  am  bewitched  and  enchanted,  you  can- 
not disentangle  me  without  indulgence.  Say  what  you  will 
about  it,  the  fact  is  just  this  —  it  is  my  fate  to  love  this  child. 
I  've  tried  to  love  many  women  before.  I  have  seen  many 
whom  I  knew  no  sort  of  reason  why  I  shouldn't  love, — ■ 
handsomer  far,  more  cultivated,  more  accomplished,  —  and  yet 
I  've  seen  them  without  a  movement  or  a  flutter  of  the  pulse. 
But  this  girl  has  awakened  all  there  is  to  me.     I  do  not  see  in 


36  THE   CLAYTON   FAMILY. 

her  what  the  world  sees.  I  see  the  ideal  image  of  what  she 
can  be,  what  I  'm  sure  she  will  be,  when  her  nature  is  fully 
awakened  and  developed." 

"Just  there,  Edward — -just  that,"  said  Anne.  "You 
never  see  anything  ;  that  is,  you  see  a  glorified  image  —  a 
something  that  might,  could,  would,  or  should  be — that  is 
your  difficulty.  You  glorify  an  ordinary  boarding-school 
coquette  into  something  symbolic,  sublime  ;  you  clothe  her 
with  all  your  own  ideas,  and  then  fall  down  to  worship 
her." 

"Well,  my  dear  Anne,  suppose  it  were  so,  what  then? 
I  am,  as  you  say,  ideal,  —  you,  real.  Well,  be  it  so  ;  I  must 
act  according  to  what  is  in  me.  I  have  a  right  to  my  nature, 
you  to  yours.  But  it  is  not  every  person  whom  I  can  ideal 
ize  ;  and  I  suspect  this  is  the  great  reason  why  I  never 
could  love  some  very  fine  women,  with  whom  I  have  asso- 
ciated on  intimate  terms ;  they  had  no  capacity  of  being 
idealized  ;  they  could  receive  no  color  from  my  fancy  ;  they 
wanted,  in  short,  just  what  Nina  has.  She  is  just  like  one 
of  those  little  whisking,  chattering  cascades  in  the  White 
Mountains,  and  the  atmosphere  round  her  is  favorable  to 
rainbows." 

"  And  you  always  see  her  through  them." 

"  Even  so,  sister  ;  but  some  people  I  cannot.  Why  should 
you  find  fault  with  me  ?  It 's  a  pleasant  thing  to  look  through 
a  rainbow.  Why  should  you  seek  to  disenchant,  if  I  can  be 
enchanted  ?" 

"Why,"  replied  Anne,  "you  remember  the  man  who 
took  his  pay  of  the  fairies  in  gold  and  diamonds,  and,  after 
he  had  passed  a  certain  brook,  found  it  all  turned  to  slate- 
stones.  Now,  marriage  is  like  that  brook  ;  many  a  poor  fel- 
low finds  his  diamonds  turned  to  slate  on  the  other  side  ; 
and  this  is  why  I  put  in  my  plain,  hard  common  sense, 
against  your  visions.  I  see  the  plain  facts  about  this  young 
girl ;  that  she  is  an  acknowledged  flirt,  a  noted  coquette  and 
jilt ;  and  a  woman  who  is  so  is  necessarily  heartless  ;  and 


THE   CLAYTON  FAMILY.  37 

you  are  too  good,  Edward,  too  noble,  I  have  loved  you 
too  long,  to  be  willing  to  give  you  up  to  such  a  woman." 

"  There,  my  dear  Anne,  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  points 
in  that  sentence  to  which  I  don't  agree.  In  the  first  place, 
as  to  coquetry,  it  is  n't  the  unpardonable  sin  in  my  eyes  — 
that  is,  under  some  circumstances." 

"  That  is,  you  mean,  when  Nina  Gordon  is  the  coquette  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  But  the  fact  is,  Anne,  there  is  so 
little  of  true  sincerity,  so  little  real  benevolence  and  charity, 
in  the  common  intercourse  of  young  gentlemen  and  ladies 
in  society,  and  our  sex,  who  ought  to  set  the  example,  are 
so  selfish  and  unprincipled  in  their  ways  of  treating  women, 
that  I  do  not  wonder  that,  now  and  then,  a  lively  girl,  who 
has  the  power,  avenges  her  sex  by  playing  off  our  weak 
points.  Now,  I  don't  think  Nina  capable  of  trifling  with  a 
real,  deep,  unselfish  attachment  —  a  love  which  sought  her 
good,  and  was  willing  to  sacrifice  itself  for  her  ;  but  I  don't 
believe  any  such  has  ever  been  put  at  her  disposal.  There  's 
a  great  difference  between  a  man's  wanting  a  woman  to  love 
him,  and  loving  her.  Wanting  to  appropriate  a  woman  as 
a  wife,  does  not,  of  course,  imply  that  a  man  loves  her,  or 
that  he  is  capable  of  loving  anything.  All  these  things 
girls  feel,  because  their  instincts  are  quick  ;  and  they  are 
often  accused  of  trifling  with  a  man's  heart,  when  they  only 
see  through  him,  and  know  he  has  n't  any.  Besides,  love 
of  power  has  always  been  considered  a  respectable  sin  in  us 
men  ;  and  why  should  we  denounce  a  woman  for  loving  her 
kind  of  power  ?  " 

"  0,  well,  Edward,  there  is  n't  anything  in  the  world  that 
you  cannot  theorize  into  beauty.  But  I  don't  like  co- 
quettes, for  all  that ;  and,  then,  I  'm  told  Nina  Gordon  is 
so  very  odd,  and  says  and  does  such  very  extraordinary 
things,  sometimes." 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  charms  me  the  more  In  this  con- 
ventional world,  where  women  are  all  rubbed  into  one  uni- 
form surface,  like  coins  in  one's  pocket,  it 's  a  pleasure  now 
and  then  to  find  one  who  can't  be  made  to  do  and  think  liee 
4 


38  THE   CLAYTON   FAMILY. 

all  the  rest.  You  have  a  little  dash  of  this  merit,  yourself, 
Anne  ;  but  you  must  consider  that  you  have  been  brought 
up  with  mamma,  under  her  influence,  trained  and  guided 
every  hour,  even  more  than  you  knew.  Nina  has  grown  up 
an  heiress  among  servants,  a  boarding-school  girl  in  New 
York ;  and,  furthermore,  you  are  twenty-seven  and  she  is 
eighteen,  and  a  great  deal  may  be  learned  between  eighteen 
and  twenty-seven." 

"  But,  brother,  you  remember  Miss  Hannah  More  says, 
—  or  some  of  those  good  women,  I  forget  who  :  at  any  rate 
it 's  a  sensible  saying,  —  '  that  a  man  who  chooses  his  wife 
as  he  would  a  picture  in  a  public  exhibition-room,  should 
remember  that  there  is  this  difference,  that  the  picture  can- 
not go  back  to  the  exhibition,  but  the  woman  may.7  You 
have  chosen  her  from  seeing  her  brilliancy  in  society  ;  but, 
after  all,  can  you  make  her  happy  in  the  dull  routine  of  a 
commonplace  life  ?  Is  she  not  one  of  the  sort  that  must 
have  a  constant  round  of  company  and  excitement  to  keep 
her  in  spirits  ?  " 

"I  think  not,"  said  Clayton.  "I  think  she  is  one  of 
those  whose  vitality  is  in  herself,  and  one  whose  freshness 
and  originality  will  keep  life  anywhere  from  being  common- 
place ;  and  that,  living  with  us,  she  will  sympathize,  natur- 
ally, in  all  our  pursuits." 

"  Well,  now,  don't  flatter  yourself,  brother,  that  you  can 
make  this  girl  over,  and  bring  her  to  any  of  your  stand- 
ards." 

"Who  —  I?  Did  you  think  I  meditated  such  an  imper- 
tinence ?  The  last  thing  I  should  try,  to  marry  a  wife  to 
educate  her  !  It 's  generally  one  of  the  most  selfish  tricks 
of  our  sex.  Besides,  I  don't  want  a  wife  who  will  be  a 
mere  mirror  of  my  opinions  and  sentiments.  I  don't  want 
an  innocent  sheet  of  blotting-paper,  meekly  sucking  up  all 
I  say,  and  giving  a  little  fainter  impression  of  my  ideas. 
I  want  a  wife  for  an  alterative  ;  all  the  vivacities  of  life  lie 
in  differences." 


THE    CLAYTON   FAMILY.  39 

"  Why,  surely,"  said  Anne,  "  one  wants  one's  friends  to 
be  congenial,  I  should  think." 

"So  we  do  ;  and  there  is  nothing-  in  the  world  so  con- 
genial as  differences.  To  be  sure,  the  differences  must  be 
harmonious.  In  music,  now,  for  instance,  one  does  n't  want 
a  repetition  of  the  same  notes,  but  differing  notes  that  chord. 
Nay,  even  discords  are  indispensable  to  complete  harmony. 
Now,  Nina  has  just  that  difference  from  me  which  chords 
with  me  ;  and  all  our  little  quarrels  —  for  we  have  had  a  good 
many,  and  I  dare  say  shall  have  more  —  are  only  a  sort  of 
chromatic  passages,  —  discords  of  the  seventh,  leading 
into  harmony.  My  life  is  inward,  theorizing,  self-absorbed. 
I  am  hypochondriac  —  often  morbid.  The  vivacity  and 
acuteness  of  her  outer  life  makes  her  just  what  I  need.  She 
wakens,  she  rouses,  and  keeps  me  in  play  ;  and  her  quick 
instincts  are  often  more  than  a  match  for  my  reason.  I  rev- 
erence the  child,  then,  in  spite  of  her  faults.  She  has  taught 
me  many  things." 

"  Well,"  said  Anne,  laughing,  "  I  give  you  up,  if  it  comes 
to  that.  If  you  come  to  talk  about  reverencing  Nina  Gor- 
don, I  see  it 's  all  over  with  you,  Edward,  and  I  '11  be  good- 
natured,  and  make  the  best  of  it.  I  hope  it  may  all  be  true 
that  you  think,  and  a  great  deal  more.  At  all  events,  no 
effort  of  mine  shall  be  wanting  to  make  you  as  happy  in 
your  new  relation  as  you  ought  to  be." 

"  There,  now,  that 's  Anne  Clayton  !  It 's  just  like  you, 
sister,  and  I  could  n't  say  anything  better  than  that.  You 
have  unburdened  your  conscience,  you  have  done  all  you 
can  for  me,  and  now  very  properly  yield  to  the  inevitable. 
Nina,  I  know,  will  love  you  ;  and,  if  you  never  try  to  advise 
her  and  influence  her,  you  will  influence  her  very  much. 
Good  people  are  a  long  while  learning  that,  Anne.  They 
think  to  do  good  to  others,  by  interfering  and  advising. 
They  don't  know  that  all  they  have  to  do  is  to  live.  When 
I  first  knew  Nina,  I  was  silly  enough  to  try  my  hand  that 
way,  myself ;  but  I  've  learned  better.  Now,  when  Nina 
comes  to  us,  all  that  you  and  mamma  have  got  to  do  is  just 


40  THE    CLAYTON    FAMILY. 

to  be  kind  to  her,  and  live  as  you  always  have  lived  ;  and 
whatever  needs  to  be  altered  in  her,  she  will  alter  herself." 

"  Well/'  said  Anne,  "  I  wish,  as  it  is  so,  that  I  could  see 
her." 

"  Suppose  you  write  a  few  lines  to  her  in  this  letter  that 
I  am  going  to  write  ;  and  then  that  will  lead  in  due  time 
to  a  visit." 

"  Anything  in  the  world,  Edward,  that  you  say." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    GOEIXON    FAMILY. 

A  week  or  two  had  passed  over  the  head  of  Nina  Gordon 
since  she  was  first  introduced  to  our  readers,  and  during 
this  time  she  had  become  familiar  with  the  details  of  her 
home  life.  Nominally,  she  stood  at  the  head  of  her  planta- 
tion, as  mistress  and  queen  in  her  own  right  of  all,  both  in 
doors  and  out ;  but,  really,  she  found  herself,  by  her  own 
youth  and  inexperience,  her  ignorance  of  practical  details, 
very  much  in  the  hands  of  those  she  professed  to  govern. 

The  duties  of  a  southern  housekeeper,  on  a  plantation, 
are  onerous  beyond  any  amount  of  northern  conception. 
Every  article  wanted  for  daily  consumption  must  be  kept 
under  lock  and  key,  and  doled  out  as  need  arises.  For  the 
most  part,  the  servants  are  only  grown-up  children,  with- 
out consideration,  forethought,  or  self-control,  quarrelling 
with  each  other,  and  divided  into  parties  and  factions,  hope- 
less of  any  reasonable  control.  Every  article  of  wear,  for 
some  hundreds  of  people,  must  be  thought  of,  purchased, 
cut  and  made,  under  the  direction  of  the  mistress  ;  and  add 
to  this  the  care  of  young  children,  whose  childish  mothers 
are  totally  unfit  to  govern  or  care  for  them,  and  we  have  some 
slight  idea  of  what  devolves  on  southern  housekeepers. 

Our  reader  has  seen  what  Nina  was  on  her  return  from 
New  York,  and  can  easily  imagine  that  she  had  no  idea  of 
embracing,  in  good  earnest,  the  hard  duties  of  such  a  life. 

In  fact,  since  the  death  of  Nina's  mother,  the  situation  of 
the  mistress  of  the  family  had  been  only  nominally  filled  by 
her  aunt,  Mrs.  Nesbit.     The  real  housekeeper,  in  fact,  was 


42  THE   GORDON  FAMILY. 

an  old  mulatto  woman,  named  Katy,  who  had  been  trained 
by  Nina's  mother.  Notwithstanding  the  general  inefficiency 
and  childishness  of  negro  servants,  there  often  are  to  be 
found  among  them  those  of  great  practical  ability.  When- 
ever owners,  through  necessity  or  from  tact,  select  such 
servants,  and  subject  them  to  the  kind  of  training  and  re- 
sponsibility which  belongs  to  a  state  of  freedom,  the  same 
qualities  are  developed  which  exist  in  free  society.  Nina's 
mother,  being  always  in  delicate  health,  had,  from  necessity, 
been  obliged  to  commit  much  responsibility  to  "Aunt 
Katy,"  as  she  was  called  ;  and  she  had  grown  up  under  the 
discipline  into  a  very  efficient  housekeeper.  With  her  tall 
red  turban,  her  jingling  bunch  of  keys,  and  an  abundant 
sense  of  the  importance  of  her  office,  she-,  was  a  dignitary 
not  lightly  to  be  disregarded. 

It  is  true  that  she  professed  the  utmost  deference  for  her 
young  mistress,  and  very  generally  passed  the  compliment 
of  inquiring  what  she  would  have  done  ;  but  it  was  pretty 
generally  understood  that  her  assent  to  Aunt  Katy's  propo- 
sitions was  considered  as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  the 
queen's  to  a  ministerial  recommendation.  Indeed,  had  Nina 
chosen  to  demur,  her  prime  minister  had  the  power,  without 
depai'ting  in  the  slightest  degree  from  a  respectful  bear- 
ing, to  involve  her  in  labyrinths  of  perplexity  without  end. 
And,  as  Nina  hated  trouble,  and  wanted,  above  all  things,  to 
have  her  time  to  herself  for  her  own  amusement,  she  wisely 
concluded  not  to  interfere  with  Aunt  Katy's  reign,  and  to 
get  by  persuasion  and  coaxing,  what  the  old  body  would 
have  been  far  too  consequential  and  opinionated  to  give  to 
authority. 

In  like  manner,  at  the  head  of  all  out-door  affairs  was  the 
young  quadroon,  Harry,  whom  we  introduced  in  the  'first 
chapter.  In  order  to  come  fully  at  the  relation  in  which  he 
stood  to  the  estate,  we  must,  after  the  fashion  of  historians 
generally,  go  back  a  hundred  years  or  so,  in  order  to  give 
our  readers  a  fair  start.  Behold  us,  therefore,  assuming 
historic  dignity,  as  follows. 


THE    GORDON   FAMILY.  43 

Among  the  first  emigrants  to  Virginia,  in  its  colonial 
days,  was  one  Thomas  Gordon,  Knight,  a  distant  offshoot 
of  the  noble  Gordon  family,  renowned  in  Scottish  history. 
Being  a  gentleman  of  some  considerable  energy,  and  impa- 
tient of  the  narrow  limits  of  the  Old  World,  where  he  found 
little  opportunity  to  obtain  that  wealth  which  was  necessary 
to  meet  the  demands  of  his  family  pride,  he  struck  off  for 
himself  into  Virginia.  Naturally  of  an  adventurous  turn, 
he  was  one  of  the  first  to  propose  the  enterprise  which 
afterwards  resulted  in  a  settlement  on  the  banks  of  the 
Chowan  Eiver,  in  North  Carolina.  Here  he  took  up  for 
himself  a  large  tract  of  the  finest  alluvial  land,  and  set 
himself  to  the  business  of  planting,  with  the  energy  and 
skill  characteristic  of  his  nation  ;  and,  as  the  soil  was  new 
and  fertile,  he  soon  received  a  very  munificent  return  for  his 
enterprise.  Inspired  with  remembrances  of  old  ancestral 
renown,  the  Gordon  family  transmitted  in  their  descent  all 
the  traditions,  feelings,  and  habits,  which  were  the  growth 
of  the  aristocratic  caste  from  which  they  sprung.  The 
name  of  Canema,  given  to  the  estate,  came  from  an  Indian 
guide  and  interpreter,  who  accompanied  the  first  Col.  Gor- 
don as  confidential  servant. 

The  estate,  being  entailed,  passed  down  through  the  colo- 
nial times  unbroken  in  the  family,  whose  wealth,  for  some 
years,  seemed  to  increase  with  every  generation. 

The  family  mansion  was  one  of  those  fond  reproductions 
of  the  architectural  style  of  the  landed  gentry  in  England, 
in  which,  as  far  as  their  means  could  compass  it,  the  planters 
were  fond  of  indulging. 

Carpenters  and  carvers  had  been  brought  over,  at  great 
expense,  from  the  old  country,  to  give  the  fruits  of  their 
skill  in  its  erection  ;  and  it  was  a  fancy  of  the  ancestor  who 
built  it,  to  display,  in  its  wood-work,  that  exuberance  of 
new  and  rare  woods  with  which  the  American  continent  was 
supposed  to  abound.  He  had  made  an  adventurous  voyage 
into  South  America,  and  brought  from  thence  specimens  of 
those  materials  more  brilliant  than  rose-wood,  and  hard  as 


44  THE    GORDON   FAMILY. 

ebony,  which  grow  so  profusely  on  the  banks  of  the  Ama- 
zon that  the  natives  use  them  for  timber.  The  floor  of  the 
central  hall  of  the  house  was  a  curiously-inlaid  parquet  of 
these  brilliant  materials,  arranged  in  fine  block-work,  highly 
polished. 

The  outside  of  the  house  was  built  in  the  old  Virginian 
fashion,  with  two  tiers  of  balconies  running  completely 
round,  as  being  much  better  suited  to  the  American  climate 
than  any  of  European  mode.  The  inside,  however,  was 
decorated  with  sculpture  and  carvings,  copied,  many  of 
them,  from  ancestral  residences  in  Scotland,  giving  to  the 
mansion  an  air  of  premature  antiquity. 

Here,  for  two  or  three  generations,  the  Gordon  family 
had  lived  in  opulence.  During  the  time,  however,  of  Nina's 
father,  and  still  more  after  his  death,  there  appeared  evi- 
dently on  the  place  signs  of  that  gradual  decay  which  has 
conducted  many  an  old  Virginian  family  to  poverty  and  ruin. 
Slave  labor,  of  all  others  the  most  worthless  and  profitless, 
had  exhaiisted  the  first  vigor  of  the  soil,  and  the  proprietors 
gradually  degenerated  from  those  habits  of  energy  which 
were  called  forth  by  the  necessities  of  the  first  settlers,  and 
everything  proceeded  with  that  free-and-easy  abandon,  in 
which  both  master  and  slave  appeared  to  have  one  common 
object,  —  that  of  proving  who  should  waste  with  most  free- 
dom. 

At  Colonel  Gordon's  death,  he  had  bequeathed,  as  we 
have  already  shown,  the  whole  family  estate  to  his  daugh- 
ter, under  the  care  of  a  servant,  of  whose  uncommon  intelli- 
gence and  thorough  devotion  of  heart  he  had  the  most 
ample  proof.  When  it  is  reflected  that  the  overseers  are 
generally  taken  from  a  class  of  whites  who  are  often  lower 
in  ignorance  and  barbarism  than  even  the  slaves,  and  that 
their  wastefulness  and  rapacity  are  a  by-word  among  the 
planters,  it  is  no  wonder  that  Colonel  Gordon  thought  that, 
in  leaving  his  plantation  under  the  care  of  one  so  energetic, 
competent,  and  faithful,  as  Harry,  he  had  made  the  best 
possible  provision  for  his  daughter. 


THE    GORDON    FAMILY.  45 

Harry  was  the  son  of  his  master,  and  inherited  much  of 
the  temper  and  constitution  of  his  father,  tempered  by  the 
soft  and  genial  temperament  of  the  beautiful  Eboe  mulat- 
tress  who  was  his  mother.  From  this  circumstance  Harry 
had  received  advantages  of  education  very  superior  to  what 
commonly  fell  to  the  lot  of  his  class.  He  had  also  ac- 
companied his  master  as  valet  during  the  tour  of  Europe, 
and  thus  his  opportunities  of  general  observation  had  been 
still  further  enlarged,  and  that  tact  by  which  those  of  the 
mixed  blood  seem  so  peculiarly  fitted  to  appreciate  all  the 
finer  aspects  of  conventional  life,  had  been  called  out  and 
exercised  ;  so  that  it  would  be  difficult  in  any  circle  to  meet 
with  a  more  agreeable  and  gentlemanly  person.  In  leaving 
a  man  of  this  character,  and  his  own  son,  still  in  the  bonds 
of  slavery,  Colonel  Gordon  was  influenced  by  that  passion- 
ate devotion  to  his  daughter  which  with  him  overpowered 
every  consideration.  A  man  so  cultivated,  he  argued  to 
himself,  might  find  many  avenues  opened'  to  him  in  free- 
dom ;  might  be  tempted  to  leave  the  estate  to  other  hands, 
and  seek  his  own  fortune.  He  therefore  resolved  to  leave 
him  bound  by  an  indissoluble  tie  for  a  term  of  years, 
trusting  to  his  attachment  to  Nina  to  make  this  service 
tolerable. 

Possessed  of  very  uncommon  judgment,  firmness,  and 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  Harry  had  found  means  to  ac- 
quire great  ascendency  over  the  hands  of  the  plantation; 
and,  either  through  fear  or  through  friendship,  there  was 
a  universal  subordination  to  him.  The  executors  of  the 
estate  scarcely  made  even  a  feint  of  overseeing  him  ;  and  he 
proceeded,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  with  the  perfect  ease 
of  a  free  man.  Everybody,  for  miles  around,  knew  and  re- 
spected him  ;  and,  had  he  not  been  possessed  of  a  good 
share  of  the  thoughtful,  forecasting  temperament  derived 
from  his  Scottish  parentage,  he  might  have  been  completely 
happy,  and  forgotten  even  the  existence  of  the  chains 
whose  weight  he  never  felt. 

It  was  only  in  the  presence  of  Tom  Gordon  —  Colonel 


4G  THE   GORDON  FAMILY. 

Gordon's  lawful  son  —  that  he  ever  realized  that  he  was  a 
slave.  From  childhood,  there  had  been  a  rooted  enmity 
between  the  brothers,  which  deepened  as  years  passed  on  ; 
and,  as  he  found  himself,  on  every  return  of  the  young  man 
to  the  place,  subjected  to  taunts  and  ill-usage,  to  which 
his  defenceless  position  left  him  no  power  to  reply,  he  had 
resolved  never  to  marry,  and  lay  the  foundation  for  a  family, 
until  such  time  as  he  should  be  able  to  have  the  command 
of  his  own  destiny,  and  that  of  his  household.  But  the 
charms  of  a  pretty  French  quadroon  overcame  the  dictates 
of  prudence. 

The  history  of  Tom  Gordon  is  the  history  of  many  a 
young  man  grown  up  under  the  institutions  and  in  the  state 
of  society  which  formed  him.  Nature  had  endowed  him 
with  no  mean  share  of  talent,  and  with  that  perilous  cpiick- 
ness  of  nervous  organization,  which,  like  fire,  is  a  good 
servant,  but- a  bad  master.  Out  of  those  elements,  with 
due  training,  might  have  been  formed  an  efficient  and  elo- 
cpient  public  man  ;  but,  brought  up  from  childhood  among 
servants  to  whom  his  infant  will  was  law,  indulged  during 
the  period  of  infantile  beauty  and  grace  in  the  full  expres- 
sion of  every  whim,  growing  into  boyhood  among  slaves 
with  but  the  average  amount  of  plantation  morality,  his 
passions  developed  at  a  fearfully  early  time  of  life  ;  and, 
before  his  father  thought  of  seizing  the  reins  of  authority, 
they  had  gone  out  of  his  hands  forever.  Tutor  after  tutor 
was  employed  on  the  plantation  to  instruct  him,  and  left, 
terrified  by  his  temper.  The  secluded  nature  of  the  planta- 
tion left  him  without  that  healthful  stimulus  of  society 
which  is  often  a  help  in  enabling  a  boy  to  come  to  the 
knowledge  and  control  of  himself.  His  associates  were 
either  the  slaves,  or  the  overseers,  who  are  generally  un- 
principled and  artful,  or  the  surrounding  whites,  who  lay 
in  a  yet  lower  deep  of  degradation.  For  one  reason  or 
another,  it  was  for  the  interest  of  all  these  to  natter  his 
vices,  and  covertly  to  assist  him  in  opposing  and  deceiv- 
ing his  parents.     Thus  an  early  age  saw  him  an  adept  in 


THE   GORDON  FAMILY.  47 

every  low  form  of  vice.  In  despair,  he  was  at  length  sent 
to  an  academy  at  the  North,  where  he  commenced  his 
career  on  the  first  day  by  striking  the  teacher  in  the 
face,  and  was  consequently  expelled.  Thence  he  went  to 
another,  where,  learning  caution  from  experience,  he  was 
enabled  to  maintain  his  foot-hold.  There  he  was  a  success- 
ful colporteur  and  missionary  in  the  way  of  introducing  a 
knowledge  of  bowie-knives,  revolvers,  and  vicious  litera- 
ture. Artful,  bold,  and  daring,  his  residence  for  a  year  at  a 
school  was  sufficient  to  initiate  in  the  way  of  ruin  perhaps 
one  fourth  of  the  boys.  He  was  handsome,  and,  when  not 
provoked,  good-natured,  and  had  that  off-hand  way  of  spend- 
ing money  which  passes  among  boys  for  generosity.  The 
simple  sons  of  hard-working  farmers,  bred  in  habits  of  in- 
dustry and  frugality,  were  dazzled  and  astonished  by  the 
freedom  with  which  he  talked,  and  drank,  and  spit,  and 
swore.  He  was  a  hero  in  their  eye,  and  they  began  to 
wonder  at  the  number  of  things,  to  them  unknown  before, 
which  went  to  make  up  the  necessaries  of  life.  From  school 
he  was  transferred  to  college,  and  there  placed  under  the 
care  of  a  professor,  who  was  paid  an  exorbitant  sum  for 
overlooking  his  affairs.  The  consequence  was,  that  while 
many  a  northern  boy,  whose  father  could  not  afford  to  pay 
for  similar  patronage,  was  disciplined,  rusticated,  or  ex- 
pelled, as  the  case  might  be,  Tom  Gordon  exploited  glo- 
riously through  college,  getting  drunk  every  week  or 
two,  breaking  windows,  smoking  freshmen,  heading  various 
sprees  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  and  at  last  gradu- 
ating nobody  knew  how,  except  the  patron  professor,  who 
received  an  extra  sum  for  the  extra  difficulties  of  the  case. 
Returned  home,  he  went  into  a  lawyer's  office  in  Raleigh, 
where,  by  a  pleasant  fiction,  he  was  said  to  be  reading  law, 
because  he  was  occasionally  seen  at  the  office  during  the 
intervals  of  his  more  serious  avocations  of  gambling,  and 
horse-racing,  and  drinking.  His  father,  an  affectionate  but 
passionate  man,  was  wholly  unable  to  control  him,  and  the 
conflicts   between  them   often   shook  the  whole   domestic 


48  THE   GOEDON   FAMILY, 

fabric.  Nevertheless,  to  the  last  Colonel  Gordon  indulged 
the  old  hope  for  such  cases  made  and  provided,  that  Tom 
would  get  through  sowing  his  wild  oats,  some  time,  and  set- 
tle down  and  be  a  respectable  man  ;  in  which  hope  he  left 
him  the  half  of  his  property.  Since  that  time,  Tom  seemed 
to  have  studied  on  no  subject  except  how  to  accelerate  the 
growth  of  those  wings  which  riches  are  said  to  be  inclined 
to  take,  under  the' most  favorable  circumstances. 

As  often  happens  in  such  cases  of  utter  ruin,  Tom  Gor- 
don was  a  much  worse  character  for  all  the  elements  of 
good  which  he  possessed.  He  had  sufficient  perception  of 
right,  and  sufficient  conscience  remaining,  to  make  him  bit- 
ter and  uncomfortable.  In  proportion  as  he  knew  himself 
unworthy  of  his  father's  affection  and  trust,  he  became  jeal- 
ous and  angry  at  any  indications  of  the  want  of  it.  He  had 
contracted  a  settled  ill-will  to  his  sister,  for  no  other  appa- 
rent reason  except  that  the  father  took  a  comfort  in  her 
which  he  did  not  in  hirn.  From  childhood,  it  was  Ids  habit 
to  vex  and  annoy  her  in  every  possible  way  ;  and  it  was  for 
this  reason,  among  many  others,  that  Harry  had  persuaded 
Mr.  John  Gordon,  Nina's  uncle  and  guardian,  to  place  her 
at  the  New  York  boarding-school,  where  she  acquired  what 
is  termed  an  education.  After  finishing  her  school  career, 
she  had  been  spending  a  few  months  in  a  family  of  a  cousin 
of  her  mother's,  and  running  with  loose  rein  the  career  of 
fashionable  gayety. 

Luckily,  she  brought  home  with  her  unspoiled  a  genuine 
love  of  nature,  which  made  the  rural  habits  of  plantation 
life  agreeable  to  her.  Neighbors  there  were  few.  Her  uncle's 
plantation,  five  miles  distant,  was  the  nearest.  Other  fami- 
lies with  whom  the  Gordons  were  in  the  habit  of  exchang- 
ing occasional  visits  were  some  ten  or  fifteen  miles  distant. 
It  was  Nina's  delight,  however,  in  her  muslin  wrapper,  and 
straw  hat,  to  patter  about  over  the  plantation,  to  chat  with 
the  negroes  among  their  cabins,  amusing-  herself  with  the 
various  drolleries  and  peculiarities  to  which  long  absence 
had  given  the  zest  of  novelty.     Then  she  would  call  for  her 


THE    GORDON   FAMILY.  49 

pony,  and,  attended  by  Harry,  or  some  of  her  servants, 
would  career  through  the  woods,  gathering'  the  wild-flowers 
with  which  they  abound  ;  perhaps  stop  for  a  day  at  her 
uncle's,  have  a  chat  and  a  romp  with  him,  and  return  the 
next  morning. 

In  the  comparative  solitude  of  her  present  life  her  mind 
began  to  clear  itself  of  some  former  follies,  as  water  when 
at  rest  deposits  the  sediment  which  clouded  it.  Apart  from 
the  crowd,  and  the  world  of  gayeties  which  had  dizzied  her, 
she  could  not  help  admitting  to  herself  the  folly  of  much 
she  had  been  doing.  Something,  doubtless,  was  added  to 
this  by  the  letters  of  Clayton.  The  tone  of  them,  so  manly 
and  sincere,  so  respectful  and  kind,  so  removed  either  from 
adulation  or  sentimentalism,  had  an  effect  upon  her  greater 
than  she  was  herself  aware  of.  So  Nina,  in  her  positive 
and  off-hand  way,  sat  down,  one  day,  and  wrote  farewell  let- 
ters to  both  her  other  lovers,  and  felt  herself  quite  relieved 
by  the  process. 

A  young  person  could  scarce  stand  more  entirely  alone, 
as  to  sympathetic  intercourse  with  relations,  than  Nina.  It 
is  true  that  the  presence  of  her  mother's  sister  in  the 
family  caused  it  to  be  said  that  she  was  residing  under  the 
care  of  an  aunt. 

Mrs.  Nesbit,  however,  was  simply  one  of  those  well-bred, 
well-dressed  lay-figures,  whose  only  office  in  life  seems  to  be 
to  occupy  a  certain  room  in  a  house,  to  sit  in  certain  chairs 
at  proper  hours,  to  make  certain  remarks  at  suitable  inter- 
vals of  conversation.  In  her  youth  this  lady  had  run  quite 
a  career  as  a  belle  and  beauty.  Nature  had  endowed  her 
with  a  handsome  face  and  figure,  and  youth  and  the  pleas- 
ure of  admiration  for  some  years  supplied  a  sufficient  flow 
of  animal  spirits  to  make  the  beauty  effective.  Early  mar- 
ried, she  became  the  mother  of  several  children,  who  were 
one  by  one  swept  into  the  grave.  The  death  of  her  hus- 
band, last  of  all,  left  her  with  a  very  small  fortune  alone  in 
the  world  ;  and,  like  many  in  similar  circumstances,  she  was 
content  to  sink  into  an  appendage  to  another's  family. 
5 


50  THE    GORDON   FAMILY. 

Mrs.  Nesbit  considered  herself  very  religious  ;  and,  as 
there  is  a  great  deal  that  passes  for  religion,  ordinarily,  of 
which  she  may  be  fairly  considered  a  representative,  we  will 
present  our  readers  with  a  philosophical  analysis  of  the 
article.  When  young,  she  had  thought  only  of  self  in  the 
form  of  admiration,  and  the  indulgence  of  her  animal  spirits. 
When  married,  she  had  thought  of  self  only  in  her  husband 
and  children,  whom  she  loved  because  they  were  hers,  and 
for  no  other  reason. 

When  death  swept  away  her  domestic  circle,  and  time 
stole  the  beauty  and  freshness  of  animal  spirits,  her  self- 
love  took  another  form  ;  and,  perceiving  that  this  world  was 
becoming  to  her  somewhat  passe,  she  determined  to  make 
the  best  of  her  chance  for  another. 

Keligion  she  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  ticket,  which, 
being  once  purchased,  and  snugly  laid  away  in  a  pocket- 
book,  is  to  be  produced  at  the  celestial  gate,  and  thus 
secure  admission  to  heaven. 

At  a  certain  period  of  her  life,  while  she  deemed  this 
ticket  unpurchased,  she  was  extremely  low-spirited  and 
gloomy,  and  went  through  a  quantity  of  theological  read- 
ing enough  to  have  astonished  herself,  had  she  foreseen  it 
in  the  days  of  her  belle-ship.  As  the  result  of  all,  she  at 
last  presented  herself  as  a  candidate  for  admission  to  a 
Presbyterian  church  in  the  vicinity,  there  professing  her 
determination  to  run  the  Christian  race.  By  the  Christian 
race,  she  understood  going  at  certain  stated  times  to  reli- 
gious meetings,  reading  the  Bible  and  hymn-book  at  certain 
hours  in  the  day,  giving  at  regular  intervals  stipulated 
sums  to  religious  charities,  and  preserving  a  general  state 
of  leaden  indifference  to  everybody  and  everything  in  the 
world. 

She  thus  fondly  imagined  that  she  had  renounced  the 
world,  because  she  looked  back  with  disgust  on  gayeties 
for  which  she  had  no  longer  strength  or  spirits.  Nor  did 
she  dream  that  the  intensity  with  which  her  mind  travelled 
the  narrow  world  of  self,  dwelling  on  the  plaits  of  her  caps, 


THE    GORDON   FAMILY.  ll 

the  cut  of  her  stone-colored  satin  gowns,  the  making  of  her 
tea  and  her  bed,  and  the  saving  of  her  narrow  income,  was 
exactly  the  same  in  kind,  though  far  less  agreeable  in  de- 
velopment, as  that  which  once  expended  itself  in  dressing 
and  dancing.  Like  many  other  apparently  negative  char- 
acters, she  had  a  pertinacious  intensity  of  an  extremely 
narrow  and  aimless  self-will.  Her  plans  of  life,  small  as 
they  were,  had  a  thousand  crimps  and  plaits,  to  every  one 
of  which  she  adhered  with  invincible  pertinacity.  The  poor 
lady  little  imagined,  when  she  sat,  with  such  punctilious 
satisfaction,  while  the  Rev.  Mr.  Orthodoxy  demonstrated 
that  selfishness  is  the  essence  of  all  moral  evil,  that  the 
sentiment  had  the  slightest  application  to  her ;  nor  dreamed 
that  the  little,  quiet,  muddy  current  of  self-will,  which  ran 
without  noise  or  indecorum  under  the  whole  structure  of 
her  being,  might  be  found,  in  a  future  day,  to  have  under- 
mined all  her  hopes  of  heaven.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Nesbit  re- 
garded Nina,  and  all  other  lively  young  people,  with  a  kind 
of  melancholy  endurance  —  as  shocking  spectacles  of  world- 
liness.  There  was  but  little  sympathy,  to  be  sure,  between 
the  dashing,  and  out-spoken,  and  almost  defiant  little  Nina, 
and  the  sombre  silver-gray  apparition  which  glided  quietly 
about  the  wide  halls  of  her  paternal  mansion.  In  fact,  it 
seemed  to  afford  the  latter  a  mischievous  pleasure  to  shock 
her  respectable  relative  on  all  convenient  occasions.  Mrs. 
Nesbit  felt  it  occasionally  her  duty,  as  she  remarked,  to  call 
her  lively  niece  into  her  apartment,  and  endeavor  to  persuade 
her  to  read  some  such  volume  as  Law's  Serious  Call,  or 
Owen  on  the  One  Hundred  and  Nineteenth  Psalm  ;  and  to 
give  her  a  general  and  solemn  warning  against  all  the  van- 
ities of  the  world,  in  which  were  generally  included  dressing 
in  any  color  but  black  and  drab,  dancing,  flirting,  writing 
love-letters,  and  all  other  enormities,  down  to  the  eating  of 
pea-nut  candy.  One  of  these  scenes  is  just  now  enacting  in 
this  good  lady's  apartment,  upon  which  we  will  raise  the 
curtain. 

Mrs.  Nesbit,  a  diminutive,  blue-eyed,  fair-complexioned 


62  THE   GORDON   FAMILY. 

little  woman,  of  some  five  feet  high,  eat  gently  swaying  in 
that  respectable  asylum  for  American  old  age,  commonly 
called  a  rocking-chair.  Every  rustle  of  her  silvery  silk 
gown,  every  fold  of  the  snowy  kerchief  on  her  neck,  every 
plait  of  her  immaculate  cap,  spoke  a  soul  long  retired  from 
this  world  and  its  cares.  The  bed,  arranged  with  extremest 
precision,  however,  was  covered  with  a  melange  of  French 
finery,  flounces,  laces,  among  which  Nina  kept  up  a  con- 
tinual agitation  like  that  produced  by  a  breeze  in  a  flower- 
bed, as  she  unfolded,  turned,  and  fluttered  them,  before  the 
eyes  of  her  relative. 

"  I  have  been  through  all  this,  Nina,"  said  the  latter,  with 
a  melancholy  shake  of  her  head,  "  and  I  know  the  vanity  of 
it." 

"Well,  aunty,  I  haven't  been  through  it,  so  /  don't 
know." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  when  I  was  of  your  age,  I  used  to  go  to 
balls  and  parties,  and  could  think  of  nothing  but  of  dress 
and  admiration.  I  have  been  through  it  all,  and  seen  the 
vanity  of  it." 

"  Well,  aunt,  I  want  to  go  through  it,  and  see  the  vanity 
of  it,  too.  That 's  just  what  I  7m  after.  I  'in  on  the  way  to 
be  as  sombre  and  solemn  as  you  are,  but  I  'm  bound  to 
have  a  good  time  first.     Now,  look  at  this  pink  brocade  !  " 

Had  the  brocade  been  a  pall,  it  could  scarcely  have  been 
regarded  with  a  more  lugubrious  aspect. 

"Ah,  child!  such  a  dying  world  as  this!  To  spend  so 
much  time  and  thought  on  dress  !  " 

"  Why,  Aunt  Nesbit,  yesterday  you  spent  just  two  whole 
hours  in  thinking  whether  you  should  turn  the  breadths  of 
your  black  silk  dress  upside  down,  or  down  side  up  ;  and 
this  was  a  dying  world  all  the  time.  Now,  I  don't  see  that 
it  is  any  better  to  think  of  black  silk  than  it  is  of  pink." 

This  was  a  view  of  the  subject  which  seemed  never  to 
have  occurred  to  the  good  lady. 

"  But,  now,  aunt,  ao  cheer  up,  and  look  at  this  box  of 
artificial  flowers.     You  know  I  thought  I  'd  bring  a  stock 


THE    GORDON    FAMILY.  53 

on  from  New  York.  .Now,  are  n't  these  perfectly  lovely  ?  I 
like  flowers  that  mean  something.  Now,  these  are  all  imi- 
tations of  natural  flowers,  so  perfect  that  you  'd  scarcely 
know  them  from  the  real.  See  —  there,  that 's  a  moss-rose  ; 
and  now  look  at  these  sweet  peas,  you  'd  think  they  had 
just  been  picked ;  and,  there  —  that  heliotrope,  and  these 
jessamines,  and  those  orange-blossoms,  and  that  wax 
camelia  —  " 

"Turn  off  my  eyes  from  beholding  vanity!  "  said  Mrs. 
Nesbit,  shutting  her  eyes,  and  shaking  her  head: 

"  '  TVhat  if  we  wear  the  richest  vest, — 
Peacocks  and  flies  are  better  drest  ; 
This  flesh,  with  all  its  glorious  forms, 
Must  drop  to  earth,  and  feed  the  worms.'  " 

"  Aunt,  I  do  think  you  have  the  most  horrid,  disgusting 
set  of  hymns,  all  about  worms,  and  dust,  and  such  tnings  !  " 

"It  ;s  my  duty,  child,  when  I  see  you  so  much  taken  up 
with  such  sinful  finery." 

"  Why,  aunt,  do  you  think  artificial  flowers  are  sinful  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  they  are  a  sinful  waste  of  time  and  money, 
and  take  off  our  mind  from  more  important  things." 

"  Well,  aunt,  then  what  did  the  Lord  make  sweet  peas, 
and  roses,  and  orange-blossoms  for  ?  I  'm  sure  it  ;s  only 
doing  as  he  does,  to  make  flowers.  He  don't  make  every- 
thing gray,  or  stone-color.  Now,  if  you  only  would  come 
out  in  the  garden,  this  morning,  and  see  the  oleanders,  and 
the  craoe  myrtle,  and  the  pinks,  the  roses,  and  the  tulips, 
and  th    hyacinths,  I  'm  sure  it  would  do  you  good." 

"  0,  I  should  certainly  catch  cold,  child,  if  I  went  out 
doors.  Milly  left  a  crack  opened  in  the  window,  last  night, 
and  I  ;ve  sneezed  three  or  four  times  since.  It  will  never 
do  for  me  to  go  out  in  the  garden  ;  the  feeling  of  the  ground 
striking  up  through  my  shoes  is  very  unhealthy." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  aunt,  I  shoidd  think,  if  the  Lord 
did  n't  wish  us  to  wear  roses  and  jessamines,  he  would  not 
5* 


54  THE   GOEDON   FAMILY. 

have  made  them.  And  it  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  want  to  wear  flowers." 

"  It  only  feeds  vanity  and  a  love  of  display,  my  dear." 

"  I  don't  think  it  \s  vanity,  or  a  love  of  display.  I  should 
want  to  dress  prettily,  if  I  were  the  only  person  in  the  world. 
I  love  pretty  things  because  they  are  pretty.  I  like  to  wear 
them  because  they  make  me  look  pretty." 

"  There  it  is,  child ;  you  want  to  dress  up  your  poor  per- 
ishing body  to  look  pretty  —  that 's  the  thing  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  Why  should  n't  I  ?  I  mean  to  look  as 
pretty  as  I  can,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  You  seem  to  have  quite  a  conceit  of  your  beauty !  "  said 
Aunt  Nesbit. 

"  Well,  I  know  I  am  pretty.  1 7m  not  going  to  pretend  I 
don't.  I  like  my  own  looks,  now,  that 's  a  fact.  I  ;m  not 
like  one  of  your  Greek  statues,  I  know.  I  'm  not  wonder- 
fully handsome,  nor  likely  to  set  the  world  on  fire  with  my 
beauty.  I  'm  just  a  pretty  little  thing ;  and  I  like  flowers 
and  laces,  and  all  of  those  things  ;  and  I  mean  to  like  them, 
and  I  don't  think  there  '11  be  a  bit  of  religion  in  my  not  lik- 
ing them  ;  and  as  for  all  that  disagreeable  stuff  about  the 
worms,  that  you  are  always  telling  me,  I  don't  think  it  does 
me  a  particle  of  good.  And,  if  religion  is  going  to  make 
me  so  poky,  I  shall  put  it  off  as  long  as  I  can." 

"  I  used  to  feel  just  as  you  do,  dear,  but  I  've  seen  the 
folly  of  it!" 

"  If  I  've  got  to  lose  my  love  for  everything  that  is  bright, 
everything  that  is  lively,  and  everything  that  is  pretty,  and 
like  to  read  such  horrid  stupid  books,  why,  I  'd  1  ther  be 
buried,  and  done  with  it !  " 

"  That 's  the  opposition  of  the  natural  heart,  my  dear." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
a  bright,  curly-headed  mulatto  boy,  bearing  Mrs.  Nesbit's 
daily  luncheon. 

"  0,  here  comes  Tomtit,"  said  Nina  ;  "now  for  a  scene  ! 
Let 's  see  what  he  has  forgotten,  now." 

Tomtit  was,  in  his  way,  a  great  character  in  the  mansion. 


THE    GORDON    FAMILY.  55 

He  and  his  grandmother  were  the  property  of  Mrs.  Nesbit. 
His  true  name  was  no  less  respectable  and  methodical  than 
that  of  Thomas  ;  but,  as  he  was  one  of  those  restless  and 
effervescent  sprites,  who  seem  to  be  born  for  the  confusion 
of  quiet  people,  Nina  had  rechristened  him  Tomtit,  which 
sobriquet  was  immediately  recognized  by  the  whole  house- 
hold as  being  eminently  descriptive  and  appropriate.  A 
constant  ripple  and  eddy  of  drollery  seemed  to  pervade  his 
whole  being ;  his  large,  saucy  black  eyes  had  always  a 
laughing  fire  in  them,  that  it  was  impossible  to  meet  with- 
out a  smile  in  return.  Slave  and  property  though  he  was, 
yet  the  first  sentiment  of  reverence  for  any  created  thing 
seemed  yet  wholly  unawakened  in  his  curly  pate.  Breezy, 
idle,  careless,  flighty,  as  his  woodland  namesake,  life  to 
him  seemed  only  a  repressed  and  pent-up  ebullition  of  animal 
enjoyment ;  and  almost  the  only  excitement  of  Mrs.  Nesbit's 
quiet  life  was  her  chronic  controversy  with  Tomtit.  Forty 
or  fifty  times  a  day  did  the  old  body  assure  him  "that  she 
was  astonished  at  his  conduct ;  "  and  as  many  times  would 
he  reply  by  showing  the  whole  set  of  his  handsome  teeth, 
on  the  broad  grin,  wholly  inconsiderate  of  the  state  of  des- 
pair into  which  he  thus  reduced  her. 

On  the  present  occasion,  as  he  entered  the  room,  his  eye 
was  caught  by  the  great  display  of  finery  on  the  bed  ;  and, 
hastily  dumping  the  waiter  on  the  first  chair  that  occuiTed, 
with  a  flirt  and  a  spring  as  lithe  as  that  of  a  squirrel,  he 
was  seated  in  a  moment  astride  the  foot-board,  indulging  in 
a  burst  of  merriment. 

"  Good  law,  Miss  Nina,  whar  on  earth  dese  yer  come 
from  ?     Good  law,  some  on  'em  for  me,  is  n't  'er  ?  " 

"You  see  that  child!"  now  said  Mrs.  Nesbit,  rocking 
back  in  her  chair  with  the  air  of  a  martyr.  "  After  all  my 
talkings  to  him  !  Nina,  you  ought  not  to  allow  that ;  it  just 
encourages  him!  " 

"  Tom,  get  down,  you  naughty  creature  you,  and  get  the 
stand  and  put  the  waiter  on  it.  Mind  yourself,  now !  "  said 
Nina,  laughing. 


56  THE    GORDON    FAMILY." 

Tomtit  cut  a  somerset  from  the  foot-board  to  the  floor, 
and,  striking  up,  on  a  very  high  key,  "  I  '11  bet  my  money 
on  a  hob-tail  nag-,"  he  danced  out  a  small  table,  as  if  it 
had  been  a  partner,  and  deposited  it,  with  a  jerk,  at  the  side 
of  Mrs.  Nesbit,  who  aimed  a  cuff  at  his  ears  ;  but,  as  he 
adroitly  ducked  his  head,  the  intended  blow  came  down 
upon  the  table  with  more  force  than  was  comfortable  to  the 
inflictor. 

"I  believe  that  child  is  made  of  air!  —  I  never  can  hit 
him !  "  said  the  good  lady,  waxing  red  in  the  face.  "  He  is 
enough  to  provoke  a  saint !  " 

"So  he  is,  aunt;  enough  to  provoke  two  saints  like  you 
and  me.  Tomtit,  you  rogue,"  said  she,  giving  a  gentle  pull 
to  a  handful  of  his  curly  hair,  "  be  good,  now,  and  I  '11  show 
you  the  pretty  things,  by  and  by.  Come,  put  the  waiter  on 
the  table,  now  ;  see  if  you  can't  walk,  for  once  !  " 

Casting  down  his  eyes  with  an  irresistible  look  of  mock 
solemnity,  Tomtit  marched  with  the  waiter,  and  placed  it 
by  his  mistress. 

The  good  lady,  after  drawing  off  her  gloves  and  making 
sundry  little  decorous  preparations,  said  a  short  grace  over 
her  meal,  during  which  time  Tomtit  seemed  to  be  holding 
his  sides  with  repressed  merriment ;  then,  gravely  laying  hold 
of  the  handle  of  the  teapot  she  stopped  short,  gave  an 
exclamation,  and  flirted  her  fingers,  as  she  felt  it  almost 
scalding  hot. 

"Tomtit,  I  do  believe  you  intend  to  burn  me  to  death, 
some  day !  " 

"  Laws,  missus,  dat  are  hot  ?  0,  sure  I  was  tickler  to  set 
the  nose  round  to  the  fire." 

"No,  you  didn't!  you  stuck  the  handle  right  into  the 
fire,  as  you  're  always  doing  !  " 

"  Laws,  now,  wonder  if  I  did,"  said  Tomtit,  assuming  an 
abstracted  appearance.  "  'Pears  as  if  never  can  'member 
which  dem  dare  is  nose,  and  which  handle.  Now,  I 's  a 
studdin  on  dat  dare  most  all  de  morning  —  was  so,"  said 


THE    GORDON   FAMILY.  57 

he,  gathering  confidence,  as  he  saw,  by  Nina's  dancing 
eyes,  how  greatly  she  was  amused. 

"You  need  a  sound  whipping,  sir  —  that's  what  you 
need !  "  said  Mrs.  Xesbit,  kindling  up  in  sudden  wrath. 

"  0,  I  knows  it,"  said  Tomtit.  "  We  's  unprofitable  ser- 
vants, all  on  us.  Lord's  marcy  that  wc  an't  'sumed,  all  on 
us  !  " 

Xina  was  so  completely  overcome  by  this  novel  applica- 
tion of  the  text  which  she  had  heard  her  aunt  laboriously 
drumming  into  Tomtit,  the  Sabbath  before,  that  she  laughed 
aloud,  Avith  rather  uproarious  merriment. 

"0,  aunt,  there  's  no  use!  He  don't  know  anything! 
He  's  nothing  but  an  incarnate  joke,  a  walking  hoax  !  " 

"No,  I  does  n't  know  nothing,  Miss  Xina,"  said  Tomtit, 
at  the  same  time  looking  out  from  under  his  long  eyelashes. 
"  Don't  know  nothing  at  all  —  never  can." 

"Well,  now,  Tomtit,"  said  Mrs.  Xesbit,  drawing  out  a 
little  blue  cowhide  from  under  her  chair,  and  looking  at 
him  resolutely,  "  you  see,  if  this  teapot  handle  is  hot  again, 
I  '11  give  it  to  you  !     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"Yes,  missis,"  said  Tomtit,  with  that  indescribable  sing- 
song of  indifference,  which  is  so  common  and  so  provoking 
in  his  class. 

"  And,  now,  Tomtit,  you  go  down  stairs  and  clean  the 
knives  for  dinner." 

"  Yes,  missis,"  said  he,  pirouetting  towards  the  door. 
And  once  in  the  passage,  he  struck  up  a  vigorous  "  0,  I  'in 
going  to  glory,  won't  you  go  along  with  me  ;  "  accompany- 
ing himself,  by  slapping  his  own  sides,  as  he  went  clown  two 
stairs  at  a  time. 

"  Going  to  glory  !  "  said  Mrs.  Xesbit,  rather  shortly  ;  "  he 
looks  like  it,  I  think  !  It 's  the  third  or  fourth  time  that  that 
child  has  blistered  my  fingers  with  this  teapot,  and  I  know 
he  does  it  on  purpose  !  So  ungrateful,  when  I  spend  my 
time,  teaching  him,  hour  after  hour,  laboring  with  him  so  ! 
I  declare,  I  don't  believe  these  children  have  got  any 
souls  !  " 


58  THE   GORDON   FAMILY. 

"Well,  aunt,  I  declare,  I  should  think  you'd  get  out  of 
all  patience  with  him  ;  yet  he  's  so  funny,  I  cannot,  for  the 
life  of  me,  help  laughing." 

Here  a  distant  whoop  on  the  staircase,  and  a  tempestuous 
chorus  to  a  methodist  hymn,  with  the  words,  "  0  come,  my 
loving  brethren,"  announced  that  Tomtit  was  on  the  return  ; 
and  very  soon,  throwing  open  the  door,  he  marched  in,  with 
an  air  of  the  greatest  importance. 

"  Tomtit,  did  n't  I  tell  you  to  go  and  clean  the  knives  ?  " 

"  Law,  missis,  come  up  here  to  bring  Miss  Nina's  love- 
letters,"  said  he,  producing  two  or  three  letters.  "  Good' 
law,  though,"  said  he,  checking  himself,  "  forgot  to  put 
them  on  a  waity  !  "  and,  before  a  word  could  be  said,  he 
was  out  of  the  room  and  down  stairs,  and  at  the  height  of 
furious  contest  with  the  girl  who  was  cleaning  the  silver, 
for  a  waiter  to  put  Miss  Nina's  letters  on. 

"  Dar,  Miss  Nina,"  appealing  to  her  when  she  appeared, 
"  Rosa  won't  let  me  have  no  waity  !  " 

"  I  could  pull  your  hair  for  you,  you  little  image  !  "  said 
Nina,  seizing  the  letters  from  his  hands,  and  laughing  while 
she  cuffed  his  eai'S. 

"  Well,"  said  Tomtit,  looking  after  her  with  great  solem- 
nity, "  missis  in  de  right  on  't.  An't  no  kind  of  order 
in  this  here  house,  'pite  of  all  I  can  do.  One  says  put*  let- 
ters on  waity.  Another  one  won't  let  you  have  waity  to 
put  letters  on.  And,  finally,  Miss  Nina,  she  pull  them  all 
away.  Just  the  way  things  going  on  in  dis  yer  house,  all 
the  time  !     I  can't  help  it ;  done  all  I  can.     Just  the  way 


missus  says 


!  " 


There  was  one  member  of  Nina's  establishment  of  a 
character  so  marked  that  we  cannot  refrain  from  giving  her 
a  separate  place  in  our  picture  of  her  surroundings,  —  and 
this  was  Milly,  the  waiting-woman  of  Aunt  Nesbit. 

Aunt  Milly,  as  she  was  commonly  called,  was  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  deep-chested  African  woman,  with  a  fulness 
of  figure  approaching  to  corpulence.  Her  habit  of  standing 
and  of  motion  was  peculiar  and  majestic,  reminding  one  of 


THE   GORDON   FAMILY.  59 

the  Scripture  expression  "  upright  as  the  palm-tree."  Her 
skin  was  of  a  peculiar  blackness  and  softness,  not  unlike 
black  velvet.  Her  eyes  were  large,  full,  and  dark,  and  had 
about  them  that  expression  of  wishfulness  and  longing 
which  one  may  sometimes  have  remarked  in  dark  eyes. 
Her  mouth  was  large,  and  the  lips,  though  partaking  of  the 
African  fulness,  had,  nevertheless,  something  decided  and 
energetic  in  their  outline,  which  was  still  further  seconded 
by  the  heavy  moulding  of  the  chin.  A  frank  smile,  which 
was  common  with  her,  disclosed  a  row  of  most  splendid 
and  perfect  teeth.  Her  hair,  without  approaching  to  the 
character  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  was  still  different  from  the 
ordinary  woolly  coat  of  the  negro,  and  seemed  more  like 
an  infinite  number  of  close-knotted  curls,  of  brilliant, 
glossy  blackness. 

The  parents  of  Milly  were  prisoners  taken  in  African 
wars ;  and  she  was  a  fine  specimen  of  one  of  those  warlike 
and  splendid  races,  of  whom,  as  they  have  seldom  been  re- 
duced to  slavery,  there  are  but  few  and  rare  specimens 
among  the  slaves  of  the  south. 

Her  iisual  head-dress  was  a  high  turban,  of  those  brilliant 
colored  Madras  handkerchiefs  in  which  the  instinctive  taste 
of  the  dark  races  leads  them  to  delight.  Milly's  was 
always  put  on  and  worn  with  a  regal  air,  as  if  it  were  the 
coronet  of  the  queen.  For  the  rest,  her  dress  consisted  of 
a  well-fitted  gown  of  dark  stuff,  of  a  quality  somewhat  finer 
than  the  usual  household  apparel.  A  neatly-starched  white 
muslin  handkerchief  folded  across  her  bosom,  and  a  clean 
white-  apron,  completed  her  usual  costume. 

No  one  could  regard  her,  as  a  whole,  and  not  feel  their 
prejudice  in  favor  of  the  exclusive  comeliness  of  white  races 
somewhat  shaken.  Placed  among  the  gorgeous  surround- 
ings of  African  landscape  and  scenery,  it  might  be  doubted 
whether  any  one's  taste  could  have  desired,  as  a  completion 
to  her  appearance,  to  have  blanched  the  glossy  skin  whose 
depth  of  coloring  harmonizes  so  well  with  the  intense  and 
fiery  glories  of  a  tropical  landscape. 


60  THE    GORDON   FAMILY. 

In  character,  Milly  was  worthy  of  her  remarkable  exter- 
nal appearance.  Heaven  had  endowed  her  with  a  soul  as 
broad  and  generous  as  her  ample  frame.  Her  passions 
rolled  and  burned  in  her  bosom  with  a  tropical  fervor  ;  a 
shrewd  and  abundant  mother  wit,  united  with  a  vein  of 
occasional  drollery,  gave  to  her  habits  of  speech  a  quaint 
vivacity. 
.  A  native  adroitness  gave  an  unwonted  command  over 
all  the  functions  of  her'fine  body  ;  so  that  she  was  endowed 
with  that  much-coveted  property  which  the  New  Englander 
denominates  "  faculty,"  which  means  the  intuitive  ability 
to  seize  at  once  on  the  right  and  best  way  of  doing  every- 
thing which  is  to  be  done.  At  the  same  time,  she  was  pos- 
sessed of  that  high  degree  of  self-respect  which  led  her  to 
be  incorruptibly  faithful  and  thorough  in  all  she  undertook ; 
less,  as  it  often  seemed,  from  any  fealty  or  deference  to 
those  whom  she  served,  than  from  a  kind  of  native  pride  in 
well-doing,  which  led  her  to  deem  it  beneath  herself  to 
slight  or  pass  over  the  least  thing  which  she  had  undertaken. 
Her  promises  were  inviolable.  Her  owners  always  knew 
that  what  she  once  said  would  be  done,  if  it  were  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility. 

The  value  of  an  individual  thus  endowed  in  person  and 
character  may  be  easily  conceived  by  those  who  understand 
how  rare,  either  among  slaves  or  freemen,  is  such  a  combi- 
nation. Milly  was,  therefore,  always  considered  in  the 
family  as  a  most  valuable  piece  of  property,  and  treated 
with  more  than  common  consideration. 

As  a  mind,  even  when  uncultivated,  will  ever  find  its  level, 
it  often  happened  that  Milly's  amount  of  being  and  force 
of  character  gave  her  ascendency  even  over  those  who  were 
nominally  her  superiors.  As  her  ways  were  commonly 
found  to  be  the  best  ways,  she  was  left,  in  most  cases,  to 
pursue  them  without  opposition  or  control.  But,  favorite 
as  she  was,  her  life  had  been  one  of  deep  sorrows.  She 
had  been  suffered,  it  is  true,  to  contract  a  marriage  with  a 
very  finely-endowed  mulatto  man,  on  a  plantation  adjoining 


THE    GORDON    FAMILY.  61 

her  owner's,  by  whom  she  had  a  numerous  family  of  chil- 
dren, who  inherited  all  her  fine  physical  and  mental  endow- 
ments. With  more  than  usual  sensibility  and  power  of 
reflection,  the  idea  that  the  children  so  dear  to  her  were 
from  their  birth  not  her  own,  —  that  they  were,  from  the  first 
hour  of  their  existence,  merchantable  articles,  having  a  fixed 
market  value  in  proportion  to  every  excellence,  and  liable 
to  all  the  reverses  of  merchantable  g-oods,  —  sank  with  deep 
weight  into  her  mind.  Unfortunately,  the  family  to  which 
she  belonged  being  reduced  to  poverty,  there  remained, 
often,  no  other  means  of  making  up  the  deficiency  of  in- 
come than  the  annual  sale  of  one  or  two  negroes.  Milly's 
children,  from  their  fine  developments,  were  much-coveted 
articles.  Their  owner  was  often  tempted  by  extravagant 
offers  for  them  ;  and  therefore,  to  meet  one  crisis  or  another 
of  family  difficulties,  they  had  been  successively  sold  from 
her.  At  first,  she  had  met  this  doom  with  almost  the 
ferocity  of  a  lioness ;  but  the  blow,  oftentimes  repeated, 
had  brought  with  it  a  dull  endurance,  and  Christianity  had 
entered,  as  it  often  does  with  the  slave,  through  the  rents 
and  fissures  of  a  broken  heart.  Those  instances  of  piety 
which  are  sometimes,  though  rarely,  found  among  slaves, 
and  which  transcend  the  ordinary  development  of  the  best- 
instructed,  are  generally  the  results  of  calamities  and  afflic- 
tions so  utterly  desolating  as  to  force  the  soul  to  depend  on 
God  alone.  But,  where  one  soul  is  thus  raised  to  higher 
piety,  thousands  are  crushed  in  hopeless  imbecility. 
6 


CHAPTER   V. 

HAREY   AND    HIS   WIFE. 

Several  miles  from  the  Gordon  estate,  on  an  old  and 
somewhat  decayed  plantation,  stood  a  neat  log  cabin,  whose 
external  aspect  showed  both  taste  and  care.  It  was  almost 
enveloped  in  luxuriant  wreaths  of  yellow  jessamine,  and 
garlanded  with  a  magnificent  lamarque  rose,  whose  cream- 
colored  buds  and  flowers  contrasted  beautifully  with  the 
dark,  polished  green  of  the  finely-cut  leaves. 

The  house  stood  in  an  enclosure  formed  by  a  high  hedge 
of  the  American  holly,  whose  evergreen  foliage  and  scarlet 
berries  made  it,  at  all  times  of  the  year,  a  beautiful  object. 
Within  the  enclosure  was  a  garden,  carefully  tended,  and 
devoted  to  the  finest  fruits  and  flowers. 

This  little  dwelling,  so  different  in  its  air  of  fanciful  neat- 
ness from  ordinary  southern  cabins,  was  the  abode  of 
Harry's  little  wife.  Lisette,  which  was  her  name,  was  the 
slave  of  a  French  Creole  woman,  to  whom  a  plantation  had 
recently  fallen  by  inheritance. 

She  was  a  delicate,  airy  little  creature,  formed  by  a  mix- 
ture of  the  African  and  French  blood,  producing  one  of 
those  fanciful,  exotic  combinations,  that  give  one  the  same 
impression  of  brilliancy  and  richness  that  one  receives  from 
tropical  insects  and  flowers.  From  both  parent  races  she 
was  endowed  with  a  sensuous  being  exquisitely  quick  and 
fine,  —  a  nature  of  everlasting  childhood,  with  all  its  fresh- 
ness of  present  life,  all  its  thoughtless,  unreasoning  fear- 
lessness of  the  future. 

She  stands  there  at  her  ironing-table,  just  outside  her  cot- 


HARRY   AND    HIS   WIFE.  C3 

tage  door,  singing  gayly  at  her  work.  Her  round,  plump, 
childish  form  is  shown  to  advantage  by  the  trim  blue 
basque,  laced  in  front,  over  a  chemisette  of  white  linen. 
Her  head  is  wreathed  with  a  gay  turban,  from  which  escapes, 
now  and  then,  a  wandering  curl  of  her  silky  black  hair. 
Her  eyes,  as  she  raises  them,  have  the  hazy,  dreamy  lan- 
guor, which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  mixed  races.  Her 
little,  childish  hands  are  busy,  with  nimble  fingers  adroitly 
plaiting  and  arranging  various  articles  of  feminine  toilet, 
too  delicate  and  expensive  to  have  belonged  to  those  in 
humble  circumstances.  She  ironed,  plaited,  and  sung,  with 
busy  care.  Occasionally,  however,  she  would  suspend  her 
work,  and,  running  between  the  flower-borders  to  the  hedge, 
look  wistfully  along  the  road,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand.  At  last,  as  she  saw  a  man  on  horseback  approach- 
ing, she  flew  lightly  out,  and  ran  to  meet  him. 

"  Harry,  Harry  !  You  've  come,  at  last.  I  'm  so  glad  ! 
And  what  have  you  got  in  that  paper  ?  Is  it  anything  for 
me?" 

He  held  it  up,  and  shook  it  at  her,  while  she  leaped  after  it. 

"  No,  no,  little  curiosity  !  "  he  said,  gayly. 

"  I  know  it 's  something  for  me,"  said  she,  with  a  pretty, 
half-pouting  air. 

"  And  why  do  you  know  it  's  for  you  ?  Is  everything  to 
be  for  you  in  the  world,  you  little  good-for-nothing  ?  " 

"  Good-for-nothing  !  "  with  a  toss  of  the  gayly-turbaned 
little  head.  "You  may  well  say  that,  sir!  Just  look  at 
the  two  dozen  shirts  I  've  ironed,  since  morning !  Come, 
now,  take  me  up  ;  I  want  to  ride." 

Harry  put  out  the  toe  of  his  boot  and  his  hand,  and,  with 
an  adroit  spring,  she  was  in  a  moment  before  him,  on  his 
horse's  neck,  and,  with  a  quick  turn,  snatched  the  paper 
parcel  from  his  hand. 

"  Woman's  curiosity  !  "  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  what  it  is.  Dear  me,  what  a 'tight 
string  !     0,  I  can't  break  it !     Well,  here  it  goes  ;  I  '11  tear 


64  '  HARRY  AND   HIS   WIFE. 

a  hole  in  it,  anyhow.  0,  silk,  as  I  live  !  Aha  !  tell  me 
now  this  is  n't  for  me,  you  bad  thing,  you  ! '' 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  it  is  n't  to  make  me  a  summer 
coat  ?  " 

"  Summer  coat !  —  likely  story  !  Aha  !  I  've  found  you 
out,  mister  !  But,  come,  do  make  the  horse  canter  !  I  want 
to  go  fast.     Make  him  canter,  do  !  " 

Harry  gave  a  sudden  jerk  to  the  reins,  and  in  a  minute 
the  two  were  flying  off  as  if  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
On  and  on  they  went,  through  a  small  coppice  of  pines, 
while  the  light-hearted  laugh  rang  on  the  breeze  behind 
them.  Now  they  are  lost  to  view.  In  a  few  minutes, 
emerging  from  the  pine  woods  in  another  direction,  they 
come  sweeping,  gay  and  laughing,  up  to  the  gate.  To 
fasten  the  horse,  to  snatch  the  little  wife  on  his  shoulder, 
and  run  into  the  cottage  with  her,  seemed  the  work  only  of 
a  moment ;  and,  as  he  set  her  down,  still  laughing,  he  ex- 
claimed, 

"  There,  go,  now,  for  a  pretty  little  picture,  as  you  are  ! 
I  have  helped  them  get  up  les  tableaux  vivans,  at  their  great 
houses  ;  but  you  are  my  tableau.  You  are  n't  good  for  much. 
You  are  nothing  but  a  humming-bird,  made  to  live  on 
honey  !  " 

"  That 's  what  I  am  !  "  said  the  little  one.  "  It  takes  a 
great  deal  of  honey  to  keep  me.  I  want  to  be  praised,  flat- 
tered, and  loved,  all  the  time.  It  isn't  enough  to  have  you 
love  me.  I  want  to  hear  you  tell  me  so  every  day,  and 
hour,  and  minute.  And  I  want  you  always  to  admire  me, 
and  praise  everything  that  I  do.     Now  —  " 

"  Particularly  when  you  tear  holes  in  packages  !  "  said 
Harry. 

"  0,  my  silk  —  my  new  silk  dress  !"  said  Lisette,  thus 
reminded  of  the  package  which  she  held  in  her  hand. 
"  This  hateful  string !  How  it  cuts  my  fingers  !  I  will 
break  it !  I  '11  bite  it  in  two.  Harry,  Harry,  don't  you  see 
how  it  hurts  my  fingers  ?     Why  don't  you  cut  it  ?  " 

A  nd  the  little  sprite  danced  about  the  cottage  floor,  tear- 


HAEEY   AND    HIS    WIFE.  65 

ing  the  paper,  and  tugging-  at  the  string,  like  an  enraged 
humming-bird.  Harry  came  laughing  behind  her,  and,  tak- 
ing hold  of  her  two  hands,  held  them  quite  still,  while  he 
cut  the  string  of  the  parcel,  and  unfolded  a  gorgeous  plaid 
silk,  crimson,  green,  and  orange. 

"There,  now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Miss  Nina 
brought  it,  when  she  came  home,  last  week." 

"  0,  how  lovely  !  Is  n't  she  a  beauty  ?  Is  n't  she  good  ? 
How  beautiful  it  is  !  Dear  me,  dear  me  !  how  happy  I  am  ! 
How  happy  ice  are  !  —  an't  we,  Harry  ?  " 

A  shadow  came  over  Harry's  forehead  as  he  answered, 
with  a  half-sigh, 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  up  at  three  o'clock,  this  morning,  on  purpose  to 
get  all  my  ironing  done  to-day,  because  I  thought  you  were 
to  come  home  to-night.  Ah  !  ah  !  you  don't  know  what  a 
supper  I  've  got  ready  !  You  '11  see,  by  and  by.  I  'm  going 
to  do  something  uncommon.  You  mustn't  look  in  that 
other  room,  Harry  —  you  must  n't !  " 

"  Mustn't  I  ?  "  said  Harry,  getting  up,  and  going  to  the 
door. 

"There,  now!  who's  curiosity  now,  I  wonder!"  said 
she,  springing  nimbly  between  him  and  the  door.  "  No, 
you  shan't  go  in,  though.  There,  now  ;  don't,  don't !  Be 
good  now,  Harry  !  " 

"  Well,  I  may  as  well  give  up  first  as  last.  This  is  your 
house,  not  mine,  I  suppose,"  said  Harry. 

"Mr.  Submission,  how  meek  we  are,  all  of  a  sudden! 
Well,  while  the  fit  lasts,  you  go  to  the  spring  and  get  me 
some  water  to  fill  this  tea-kettle.  Off  with  you,  now,  this 
minute  !     Mind  you  don't  stop  to  play  by  the  way  !  " 

And,  while  Harry  is  gone  to  the  spring',  we  will  follow  the 
wife  into  the  forbidden  room.  Very  cool  and  pleasant  it 
is,  with  its  white  window-curtains,  its  matted  floor,  and 
displaying  in  the  corner  that  draped  feather-bed,  with  its 
ruffled  pillows  and  fringed  curtains,  which  it  is  the  great 
ambition  of  the  southern  cabin  to  attain  and  maintain. 
6* 


6Q  HAREY   AND    HIS   WIFE. 

The  door,  which  opened  on  to  a  show  of  most  brilliant 
flowers,  was  overlaid  completely  by  the  lamarque  rose  we 
have  before  referred  to  ;  and  large  clusters  of  its  creamy 
blossoms,  and  wreaths  of  its  dark-green  leaves,  had  been 
enticed  in  and  tied  to  sundry  nails  and  pegs  by  the  small 
hands  of  the  little  mistress,  to  form  an  arch  of  flowers  and 
roses.  A  little  table  stood  in  the  door,  draped  with  a  spot- 
less damasked  table-cloth,  fine  enough  for  the  use  of  a  prin- 
cess, and  only  produced  by  the  little  mistress  on  festive 
occasions.  On  it  were  arranged  dishes  curiously  trimmed 
with  moss  and  vine-leaves,  which  displayed  strawberries 
and  peaches,  with  a  pitcher  of  cream  and  one  of  whey, 
small  dishes  of  curd,  delicate  cakes  and  biscuit,  and  fresh 
golden  butter. 

After  patting  and  arranging  the  table-cloth,  Lisette  tripped 
gayly  around,  and  altered  here  and  there  the  arrangement  of 
a  dish,  occasionally  stepping  back,  and  cocking  her  little 
head  on  one  side,  much  like  a  bird,  singing  gayly  as  she  did 
so  ;  then  she  would  pick  a  bit  of  moss  from  this,  and  a 
Sower  from  that,  and  retreat  again,  and  watch  the  effect. 

"  How  surprised  he  will  be  !  "  she  said  to  herself.  Still 
humming  a  tune  in  a  low,  gurgling  undertone,  she  danced 
hither  and  thither,  round  the  apartment.  First  she  gave  the 
curtains  a  little  shake,  and,  unlooping  one  of  them,  looped 
it  up  again,  so  as  to  throw  the  beams  of  the  evening  sun  on 
the  table. 

"  There,  there,  there  !  how  pretty  the  light  falls  through 
those  nasturtions  !  I  wonder  if  the  room  smells  of  the 
mignonette.  I  gathered  it  when  the  dew  was  on  it,  and 
they  say  that  will  make  it  smell  all  day.  Now,  here  's 
Harry's  book-case.  Dear  me  !  these  flies  !  How  they  do 
get  on  to  everything !  Shoo,  shoo  !  now,  now  !  "  and, 
catching  a  gay  bandana  handkerchief  from  the  drawer,  she 
perfectly  exhausted  herself  in  flying  about  the  room  in  pur- 
suit of  the  buzzing  intruders,  who  soared,  and  dived,  and 
careered,  after  the  manner  of  flies  in  general,  seeming  deter- 
mined to  go  anywhere  but  out  of  the  door,  and  finally  were 


HARRY    AND    HIS    WIFE.  67 

seen  brushing-  their  wings  and  licking  their  feet,  with  great 
alertness,  on  the  very  topmost  height  of  the  sacred  bed-cur- 
tains ;  and  as  just  this  moment  a  glimpse  was  caught  of 
Harry  returning  from  the  spring,  Lisette  was  obliged  to 
abandon  the  chase,  and  rush  into  the  other  room,  to  prevent 
a  premature  development  of  her  little  tea-tableau.  Then  a 
small,  pug-nosed,  black  teakettle  came  on  to  the  stage  of 
action,  from  some  unknown  cupboard  ;  and  Harry  had  to  fill 
it  with  water,  and  of  course  spilt  the  water  on  to  the  ironing- 
table,  which  made  another  little  breezy,  chattering  commo- 
tion ;  and  then  the  fiat-irons  were  cleared  away,  and  the  pug- 
nosed  kettle  reigned  in  their  stead  on  the  charcoal  brazier. 

"Now,  Harry,  was  ever  such  a  smart  wife  as  I  am? 
Only  think,  besides  all  the  rest  that  I  've  done,  I  've  ironed 
your  white  linen  suit,  complete  !  Xow,  go  put  it  on.  Xot 
in  there  !  not  in  there  !  "  she  said,  pushing  him  away  from 
the  door.  "You  can't  go  there,  yet.  You'll  do  well 
enough  out  here." 

And  away  she  went,  singing  through  the  garden  walks  ; 
and  the  song,  floating  back  behind  her,  seemed  like  an  odor 
brushed  from  the  flowers.  The  refrain  came  rippling  in  at 
the  door  — 

"  Me  think  not  what  to-morrow  bring; 
Me  happy,  so  me  sing  ! " 

"  Poor  little  thing  !  "  said  Harry  to  himself;  "  why  should 
I  try  to  teach  her  anything  ?  " 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  back  again,  her  white  apron 
thrown  over  her  arm,  and  blossoms  of  yellow  jessamine, 
spikes  of  blue  lavender,  and  buds  of  moss-roses,  peeping  out 
from  it.  She  skipped  gayly  along,  and  deposited  her  treasure 
on  the  ironing-table  ;  then,  with  a  zealous,  bustling  ear- 
nestness, which  characterized  everything  she  did,  she  began 
sorting  them  into  two  bouquets,  alternately  talking  and 
singing,  as  she  did  so, 

"  Come  on,  ye  rosy  hours, 
All  joy  and  gladness  bring  !  " 


68  HARRY    AND    HIS    WIFE. 

"  You  see,  Harry,  you  're  going-  to  have  a  bouquet  to  put 
into  the  button-hole  of  that  coat.  It  will  make  you  look  so 
handsome  !     There,  now  —  there,  now, 

"  We  '11  strew  the  way  with  flowers, 
And  merrily,  merrily  sing." 

Suddenly  stopping,  she  looked  at  him  archly,  and  said, 
"  You  can't  tell,  now,  what  I  'm  doing  all  this  for  ! " 

"There's  never  any  telling  what  you  women  do  any- 
thing for." 

"Do  hear  him  talk  —  so  pompous!  Well,  sir,  it's  for 
your  birthday,  now.  Aha !  you  thought,  because  I  can't 
keep  the  day  of  the  month,  that  I  did  n't  know  anything 
about  it ;  but  I  did.  And  I  have  put  down  now  a  chalk- 
mark  every  day,  for  four  weeks,  right  under  where  I  keep 
my  ironing-account,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  it.  And  I  've  been 
busy  about  it  ever  since  two  o'clock  this  morning.  And 
now  — -  there,  the  tea-kettle  is  boiling  !  "  —  and  away  she 
flew  to  the  door. 

"  0,  dear  me  !  —  dear  me,  now  !  —  I  've  killed  myself,  now, 
I  have!"  she  cried,  hol'ding  up  one  of  her  hands,  and  flirt- 
ing it  up  in  the  air.    "  Dear  me  !  who  knew  it  was  so  hot  ? " 

"  I  should  think  a  little  woman  that  is  so  used  to  the 
holder  might  have  known  it,"  said  Harry,  as  he  caressed 
the  little  burnt  hand. 

"  Come,  now,  let  me  carry  it  for  you,"  said  Harry,  "  and 
I  '11  make  the  tea,  if  you  '11  let  me  go  into  that  mysterious 
room." 

"Indeed,  no,  Harry  —  I'm  going  to  do  everything  my- 
self; "  and,  forgetting  the  burnt  finger,  Lisette  was  off  in  a 
moment,  and  back  in  a  moment  with  a  shining  teapot  in 
her  hand,  and  the  tea  was  made.  And  at  last  the  mys- 
terious door  opened,  and  Lisette  stood  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  Harry,  to  watch  the  effect. 

"  Superb  !  —  magnificent  !• —  splendid  !  Why,  this  is  good 
enough  for  a  king  !  And  where  did  you  get  all  these 
things  ?  "  said  Harry. 


HARRY    AND    HIS   WIPE.  69 

"  0,  out  of  our  garden  —  all  but  the  peaches.  Those  old 
Mist  gave  me — they  come  from  Florida.  There,  now,  you 
laughed  at  me,  last  summer,  when  I  set  those  strawberry- 
vines,  and  made  all  sorts  of  fun  of  me.  And  what  do  you 
think  now  ?  " 

"Think!  I  think  you're  a  wonderful  little  thing  —  a 
perfect  witch." 

"Come,  now,  let's  sit  down,  then  —  you  there,  and  I 
here."  And, .  opening  the  door  of  the  bird-cage,  which 
hung  in  the  lamarque  rose-bush,  "Little  Button  shall  come, 
too." 

Button,  a  bright  yellow  canary,  with  a  smart  black  tuft 
upon  his  head,  seemed  to  understand  his  part  in  the  little 
domestic  scene  perfectly  ;  for  he  stepped  obediently  upon 
the  finger  which  was  extended  to  him,  and  was  soon  sitting 
quite  at  his  ease  on  the  mossy  edge  of  one  of  the  dishes, 
pecking  at  the  strawberries. 

"And,  now,  do  tell  me,"  said  Lisette,  "all  about  Miss 
Nina.     How  does  she  look  ?  " 

"Pretty  and  smart  as  ever,"  said  Harry.  "Just  the 
same  witchy,  wilful  ways  with  her." 

"  And  did  she  show  you  her  dresses  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  ;  the  whole." 

"  0,  do  tell  me  about  them,  Harry  —  do  !  " 

"  Well,  there  's  a  lovely  pink  gauze,  covered  with  span- 
gles, to  be  worn  over  white  satin." 

"  With  flounces  ?  "  said  Lis-ette,  earnestly. 

"  With  flounces." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  Really,  1  don't  remember." 

"  Don't  remember  how  many  flounces  ?  Why,  Harry, 
how  stupid  !  Say,  Harry,  don't  you  suppose  she  will  let 
me  conic;  and  look  at  her  things  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,  dear,  I  don't  doubt  she  will ;  and  that  will  save 
my  making  a  gazette  of  myself." 

"  0,  when  will  you  take  me  there,  Harry  ?  " 

"  Perhaps   to-morrow,    dear.      And   now,"    said   Harry, 


70  HAERY    AND    HIS    WIFE. 

"that  you  have  accomplished  your  surprise  upon  me,  I 
have  a  surprise,  in  return,  for  you.  You  can't  guess,  now, 
what  Miss  Nina  brought  for  me." 

"  No,  indeed  !  What  ?  "  said  Lisette,  springing  up  ;  "do 
tell  me  —  quick.'7 

"Patience  —  patience  !  "  said  Harry,  deliberately  fumbling 
in  his  pocket,  amusing  himself  with  her  excited  air.  But 
who  should  speak  the  astonishment  and  rapture  which 
widened  Lisette's  dark  eyes,  when  the  watch  was  pro- 
duced ?  She  clapped  her  hands,  and  danced  for  joy,  to  the 
imminent  risk  of  upsetting  the  table,  and  all  the  things 
on  it. 

"  I  do  think  we  are  the  most  fortunate  people  —  you  and 
I,  Harry  !  Everything  goes  just  as  we  want  it  to  —  does  n't 
it,  now  ?  " 

Harry's  assent  to  this  comprehensive  proposition  was 
much  less  fervent  than  suited  his  little  wife. 

"  Now,  what 's  the  matter  with  you  ?  What  goes  wrong  ? 
Why  don't  you  rejoice  as  I  do  ?  "  said  she,  coming  and  seat- 
ing herself  down  upon  his  knee.  "Come,  now,  you've 
been  working  too  hard,  I  know.  I  'm  going  to  sing  to  you, 
now ;  you  want  something  to  cheer  you  up."  And  Lisette 
took  down  her  banjo,  and  sat  down  in  the  doorway  under 
the  arch  of  lamarque  roses,  and  began  thrumming  gayly. 

"  This  is  the  nicest  little  thing,  this  banjo  !  "  she  said  ; 
"I  would  n't  change  it  for  all  the  guitars  in  the  world. 
Now,  Harry,  I  'm  going  to  sing  something  specially  for 
you."     And  Lisette  sung: 

'.'  What  are  the  joys  of  white  man,  here, 
What  are  his  pleasures,  say? 
He  great,  he  proud,  he  haughty  fine, 
While  I  my  banjo  play  : 

He  sleep  all  day,  he  wake  all  night ; 
He  full  of  care,  his  heart  no  light  ; 
He  great  deal  want,  he  little  get  ; 
He  sorry,  so  he  fret. 


'  Me  envy  not  the  white  man  here. 
Though  he  so  proud  and  gay  ; 


HARRY    AND    HIS    WIFE.  71 

He  great,  he  proud,  he  haughty  fine, 
"While  I  my  banjo  play  : 

Me  work  all  day,  me  sleep  all  night  ; 
Me  have  no  care,  me  heart  is  light  ; 
Me  think  not  what  to-morrow  bring  ; 
Me  happy,  so  me  sing." 

Lisette  rattled  the  strings  of  the  banjo,  and  sang  with 
such  a  hearty  abandon  of  enjoyment  that  it  was  a  comfort 
to  look  at  her.  One  would  have  thought  that  a  bird's  soul 
put  into  a  woman's  body  would  have  sung  just  so. 

"  There,"  she  said,  throwing  down  her  banjo,  and  seating 
herself  on  her  husband's  knee,  "  do  you  know  I  think  you 
are  like  white  man  in  the  song  ?  I  should  like  to  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  you.  I  can  see  plain  enough  when  you 
are  not  happy  ;  but  I  don't  see  why." 

"  0,  Lisette,  I  have  very  perplexing  business  to  manage," 
said  Harry.  "  Miss  Nina  is  a  dear,  good  little  mistress,  but 
she  does  n't  know  anything  about  accounts,  or  money  ;  and 
here  she  has  brought  me  home  a  set  of  bills  to  settle,  and 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  the  money  is  to  be  got  from. 
It 's  hard  work  to  make  the  old  place  profitable  in  our  days. 
The  ground  is  pretty  much  worked  up  ;  it  does  n't  bear  the 
crops  it  used  to.  And,  then,  our  people  are  so  childish,  they 
don't,  a  soul  of  them,  care  how  much  they  spend,  or  how 
carelessly  they  work.  It's  very  expensive  keeping  up  such 
an  establishment.  You  know  the  Gordons  must  be  Gor- 
dons. Things  can't  be  done  now  as  some  other  families 
would  do  them  ;  and,  then,  those  bills  which  Miss  Nina 
brings  from  New  York  are  perfectly  frightful." 

"  Well,  Harry,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  said  Lisette, 
nestling  down  close  on  his  shoulder.  "You  always  know 
how  to  do  something." 

"  Why,  Lisette,  I  shall  have  to  do  what  I  've  done  two 
or  three  times  before  —  take  the  money  that  I  have  saved, 
to  pay  these  bills  —  our  freedom-money,  Lisette." 

"  0,  well,  then,  don't  worry  !  We  can  get  it  again,  you 
know.     Why,  you  know,  Harry,  you  can  make  a  good  deal 


72  HAREY    AND    HIS    WIPE. 

with  your  trade,  and  one  thing  and  another  that  you  do  ; 
and,  then,  as  for  me,  why,  you  know,  my  ironing,  and  my 
muslins,  how  celebrated  they  are.  Come,  don't  worry  one 
bit ;  we  shall  get  on  nicely." 

"  Ah  !  But,  Lisette,  all  this  pretty  house  of  ours,  gar- 
den, and  everything,  is  only  built  on  air,  after  all,  till  we 
are  free.  Any  accident  can  take  it  from  us.  Now,  there  's 
Miss  Nina ;  she  is  engaged,  she  tells  me,  to  two  or  three 
lovers,  as  usual." 

"  Engaged,  is  she  ?  "  said  Lisette,  eagerly,  female  cu- 
riosity getting  the  better  of  every  other  consideration ; 
"  she  always  did  have  lovers,  just,  you  know,  as  I  used  to." 

"Yes  ;  but,  Lisette,  she  will  marry,  some  time,  and  what 
a  thing  that  would  be  for  you  and  me  !  On  her  husband 
will  depend  all  my  happiness  for  all  my  life.  He  may  set 
her  against  me  ;  he  may  not  like  me.  0,  Lisette  !  I  've  seen 
trouble  enough  coming  of  marriages  ;  and  I  was  hoping, 
you  see,  that  before  that  time  came  the  money  for  my  free- 
dom would  all  be  paid  in,  and  I  should  be  my  own  man. 
But,  now,  here  it  is.  Just  as  the  sum  is  almost  made  up,  I 
must  pay  out  five  hundred  dollars  of  it,  and  that  throws  us 
back  two  or  three  years  longer.  And  what  makes  me  feel 
the  most  anxious  is,  that  I'm  pretty" sure  Miss  Nina  will 
marry  one  of  these  lovers  before  long." 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so,  Harry  ?  " 

"  0,  I  've  seen  girls  before  now,  Lisette,  and  I  know  the 
signs." 

"What  does  she  do?  What  does  she  say?  Tell  me, 
now,  Harry." 

"  0,  well,  she  runs  on  abusing  the  man,  after  her  sort ; 
and  she's  so  very  earnest  and  positive  in  telling  me  she 
don't  like  him." 

"  Just  the  way  I  used  to  do  about  you,  Harry,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Besides,"  said  Harry,  "  I  know,  by  the  kind  of  charac- 
ter she  gives  of  him,  that  she  thinks  of  him  very  differently 
from  what  she  ever  did  of  any  man  before.  Miss  Nina 
little  knows,  when  she  is  rattling  about  her  beaux,  what  I  'm 


HARRY   AND    HIS   WIFE.  73 

thinking-  of.  I  'm  saying,  all  the  while,  to  myself,  '  Is  that 
man  going  to  be  my  master  ? '  and  this  Clayton,  I  'in  very 
sure,  is  going  to  be  my  master." 

"  Well,  is  n't  he  a  good  man  ?  " 

"  She  says  he  is  ;  but  there  's  never  any  saying  what  good 
men  will  do,  never.  Good  men  think  it  right  sometimes  to 
do  the  strangest  things.  This  man  may  alter  the  whole 
agreement  between  us, — he  will  have  a  right  to  do  it,  if  he 
is  her  husband  ;  he  may  refuse  to  let  me  buy  myself;  and, 
then,  all  the  money  that  I  've  paid  will  go  for  nothing." 

"But,  certainly,  Harry,  Miss  Nina  will  never  consent. to 
such  a  thing." 

"  Lisette,  Miss  Nina  is  one  thing,  but  Mrs.  Clayton  may 
be  quite  another  thing.  I  've  seen  all  that,  over  and  over 
again.  I  tell  you,  Lisette,  that  we  who  live  on  other  peo- 
ple's looks  and  words,  we  watch  and  think  a  great  deal ! 
Ah  !  we  come  to  be  very  sharp,  I  can  tell  you.  The  more 
Miss  Nina  has  liked  me,  the  less  her  husband  may  like  me  ; 
dont  you  know  that  ?  " 

"No  ;  Harry,  you  don't  dislike  people  I  like." 

"  Child,  child,  that 's  quite  another  thing." 

"  Well,  then,  Harry,  if  you  feel  so  bad  about  it,  what 
makes  you  pay  this  money  for  Miss  Nina  ?  She  don't 
know  anything  about  it ;  she  don't  ask  you  to.  I  don't 
believe  she  would  want  you  to,  if  she  did  know  it.  Just  go 
and  pay  it  in,  and  have  your  freedom-papers  made  out. 
Why  don't  you  tell  her  all  about  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't,  Lisette.  I  've  had  the  cai*e  of  her  all  her 
life,  and  I  've  made  it  as  smooth  as  I  could  for  her,  and  I 
won't  begin  to  trouble  her  now.  Do  you  know,  too,  that 
I  'm  afraid  that,  perhaps,  if  she  knew  all  about  it,  she 
would  n't  do  the  right  thing.  There  's  never  any  knowing, 
Lisette.  Now,  you  see,  I  say  to  myself,  '  Poor  little  thing  ! 
she  doesn't  know  anything  about  accounts,  and  she  don't 
know  how  I  feel.'  But,  if  I  should  tell  her,  and  she  should  n't 
care,  and  act  as  I  've  seen  women  act,  why,  then,  you  know, 
1 


74  HARRY   AND    HIS   WIFE. 

I  could  n't  think  so  any  more.  I  don't  believe  she  would, 
mind  you  ;  but,  then,  I  don't  like  to  try." 

"  Harry,  what  does  make  you  love  her  so  much  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know,  Lisette,  that  Master  Tom  was  a  dread- 
ful bad  boy,  always  wilful  and  wayward,  almost  broke  his 
father's  heart ;  and  he  was  always  ugly  and  contrary  to  her  ? 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  ;  for  she  was  a  sweet  little  thing', 
and  she  loves  him  now,  ugly  as  he  is,  and  he  is  the  most 
selfish  creature  I  ever  saw.  And,  as  for  Miss  Nina,  she 
isn't  selfish  —  she  is  only  inconsiderate.  But  I've  known 
her  do  for  him,  over  and  over,  just  what  I  do  for  her,  giving 
him  her  money  and  her  jewels  to  help  him  out  of  a  scrape. 
But,  then,  to  be  sure,  it  all  comes  upon  me,  at  last,  which 
makes  it  all  the  more  aggravating.  Now,  Lisette,  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  something,  but  you  mustn't  tell  anybody. 
Nina  Gordon  is  my  sister  !  " 

"  Harry  !  " 

"  Yes,  Lisette,  you  may  well  open  your  eyes,"  said 
Harry,  rising  involuntarily  ;  "I  'm  Colonel  Gordon's  oldest 
son  !  Let  me  have  the  comfort  of  saying  it  once,  if  I  never 
do  again." 

"  Harry,  who  told  you  ?  " 

"  He  told  me,  Lisette — he,  himself,  told  me,  when  he  was 
dying,  and  charged  me  always  to  watch  over  her ;  and  I  have 
done  it!  I  never  told  Miss  Nina;  I  wouldn't  have  her 
told  for  the  world.  It  would  n't  make  her  love  me  ;  more 
likely  it  would  turn  her  against  me.  I  've  seen  many  a  man 
sold  for  nothing  else  but  looking  too  much  like  his  father,  or 
his  brothers  and  sisters.  I  was  given  to  her,  and  my 
sister  and  my  mother  went  out  to  Mississippi  with  Miss 
Nina's  aunt." 

"  I  never  heard  you  speak  of  this  sister,  Harry.  Was  she 
pretty? " 

"Lisette,  she  was  beautiful,  she  was  graceful,  and  she 
had  real  genius.  I  've  heard  many  singers  on  the  stage 
that  could  not  sing,  with  all  their  learning,  as  she  did  by 
nature." 


HARRY   AND   HIS   "WIFE.  75 

"  Well,  what  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  0,  what  becomes  of  such  women  always,  among  us! 
Nursed,  and  petted,  and  caressed  ;  taught  everything  ele- 
gant, nothing  solid.  Why,  the  woman  meant  well  enough 
that  had  the  care  of  her, — Mrs.  Stewart,  Colonel  Gordon's 
sister, — but  she  couldn't  prevent  her  son's  wanting  her, 
and  taking  her,  for  his  mistress  ;  and  when  she  died  there 
she  was." 

"  Well." 

"  When  George  Stewart  had  lived  with  her  two  or  three 
years,  he  was  taken  with  small-pox.  You  know  what  per- 
fect horror  that  always  creates.  None  of  his  white  acquaint- 
ances and  friends  would  come  near  his  plantation ;  the 
negroes  were  all  frightened  to  death,  as  usual  ;  overseer  ran 
off.  Well,  then  Cora  Gordon's  blood  came  up  ;  she  nursed 
him  all  through  that  sickness.  What 's  more,  she  had  influ- 
ence to  keep  order  on  the  place  ;  got  the  people  to  get- 
ting the  cotton  crops  themselves,  so  that  when  the  overseer 
came  sneaking  back,  things  had  n't  all  gone  to  ruin,  as  they 
might  have  done.  Well,  the  young  fellow  had  more  in  him 
than  some  of  them  do  ;  for  when  he  got  well  he  left  his 
plantation,  took  her  up  to  Ohio,  and  married  her,  and  lived 
with  her  there." 

"Why  didn't  he  live  with  her  on  his  plantation?  "  said 
Lisette. 

"  He  could  n't  have  freed  her  there  ;  it 's  against  the  laws. 
But,  lately,  I  've  got  a  letter  from  her,  saying  that  he  had 
died  and  left  to  her  and  her  son  all  his  property  on  the 
Mississippi." 

"  Why,  she  will  be  rich,  won't  she  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  she  gets  it.  But  there  's  no  knowing  how  that 
will  be  ;  there  are  fifty  ways  of  cheating  her  out  of  it,  I 
suppose.  But,  now,  as  to  Miss  Nina's  estate,  you  don't 
know  how  I  feel  about  it.  I  was  trusted  with  it,  and  trusted 
with  her.  She  never  has  known,  more  than  a  child,  where 
the  money  came  from,  or  went  to  ;  and  it  shan't  be  said  that 
I  've  brought  the  estate  in  debt,  for  the  sake  of  getting  my 


76  HARRY   AND    HIS   WIFE. 

own  liberty.  If  I  have  one  pride  in  life,  it  is  to  give  it  up 
to  Miss  Nina's  husband  in  good  order.  But,  then,  the 
trouble  of  it,  Lisette  !  The  trouble  of  getting  anything  like 
decent  work  from  these  creatures  ;  the  ways  that  I  have  to 
turn  and  twist  to  get  round  them,  and  manage  them,  to  get 
anything  done.  They  hate  me  ;  they  are  jealous  of  me. 
Lisette,  I  'm  just  like  the  bat  in  the  fable  ;  I  ?m  neither  bird 
nor  beast.  How  often  I  've  wished  that  I  was  a  good,  hon- 
est, black  nigger,  like  Uncle  Pomp  !  Then  I  should  know 
what  I  was  ;  but,  now,  I  'm  neither  one  thing  nor  another. 
I  come  just  near  enough  to  the  condition  of  the  white  to  look 
into  it,  to  enjoy  it,  and  want  everything  that  I  see.  Then, 
the  way  I  've  been  educated  makes  it  worse.  The  fact  is, 
that  when  the  fathers  of  such  as  we  feel  any  love  for  us,  it 
is  n't  like  the  love  they  have  for  their  white  children.  They 
are  half-ashamed  of  us  ;  they  are  ashamed  to  show  their  love, 
if  they  have  it ;  and,  then,  there  's  a  kind  of  remorse  and  pity 
about  it,  which  they  make  up  to  themselves  by  petting  us. 
They  load  us  with  presents  and  indulgences.  They  amuse 
themselves  with  us  while  we  are  children,  and  play  off  all  our 
passions  as  if  we  were  instruments  to  be  played  on.  If  we 
show  talent  and  smartness,  we  hear  some  one  say,  aside, '  It 's 
rather  a  pity,  isn't  it  ? '  or,  '  lie  is  too  smart  for  his  place.' 
Then,  we  have  all  the  family  blood  and  the  family  pride  ;  and 
what  to  do  with  it  ?  I  feel  that  I  am  a  Gordon.  I  feel  in 
my  very  heart  that  I  'm  like  Colonel  Gordon  —  I  know  I  am ; 
and,  sometimes,  I  know  I  look  like  him,  and  that's  one 
reason  why  Tom  Gordon  always  hated  me ;  and,  then, 
there  's  another  thing,  the  hardest  of  all,  to  have  a  sister  like 
Miss  Nina,  to  feel  she  is  my  sister,  and  never  dare  to  say  a 
word  of  it !  She  little  thinks,  when  she  plays  and  jokes 
with  me,  sometimes,  how  I  feel.  I  have  eyes  and  senses  ; 
I  can  compare  myself  with  Tom  Gordon.  I  know  he  never 
would  learn  anything  at  any  of  the  schools  he  was  put  to  ; 
and  I  know  that  when  his  tutors  used  to  teach  me,  how 
much  faster  I  got  along  than  he  did.  And  yet  he  must 
have  all  the  position,  and  all  the  respect ;  and,  then,  Miss 


HARRY    AND    HIS   WIFE.  11 

Nina  so  often  says  to  me,  by  way  of  apology,  when  she  puts 
up  with  his  ugliness,  '  Ah  !  well,  you  know,  Harry,  he  is  the 
only  brother  I  have  got  in  the  world  ! ;  Is  n't  it  too  bad  ? 
Col.  Gordon  gave  me  every  advantage  of  education,  because 
I  think  he  meant  me  for  just  this  place  which  I  fill.  Miss  Nina 
was  his  pet.  He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  her,  and  he  was 
frightened  at  Tom's  wickedness  ;  and  so  he  left  me  bound  to 
the  estate  in  this  way,  only  stipulating  that  I  should  buy 
myself  on  favorable  terms  before  Miss  Nina's  marriage. 
She  has  always  been  willing  enough.  I  might  have  taken 
any  and  every  advantage  of  her  inconsiderateness.  And 
Mr.  John  Gordon  has  been  willing,  too,  and  has  been  very 
kind  about  it,  and  has  signed  an  agreement  as  guardian, 
and  Miss  Nina  has  signed  it  too,  that,  in  case  of  her  death, 
or  whatever  happened,  I  'm  to  have  my  freedom  on  paying 
a  certain  sum,  and  I  have  got  his  receipts  for  what  I  have 
paid.  So  that 's  tolerably  safe.  Lisette,  I  had  meant  never 
to  have  been  married  till  I  was  a  free  man  ;  but,  somehow, 
you  bewitched  me  into  it.     I  did  very  wrong." 

"  0,  pshaw  !  pshaw  !  "  interrupted  Lisette.  "  I  an't  going 
to  hear  another  word  of  this  talk  I  What 's  the  use  ?  We 
shall  do  well  enough.  Everything  will  come  out  right,  — 
you  see  if  it  don't,  now.  I  was  always  lucky,  and  I  always 
shall  be." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  loud  whoop- 
ing, and  a  clatter  of  horse's  heels. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  Harry,  starting  to  the  window. 
"  As  I  live,  now,  if  there  is  n't  that  wretch  of  a  Tomtit, 
going  off  with  that  horse  !  How  came  he  here  ?  He  will 
ruin  him  !  Stop  there  !  hallo  !  "  he  exclaimed,  running  out 
of  doors  after  Tomtit. 

Tomtit,  however,  only  gave  a  triumphant  whoop,  and  dis- 
appeared among  the  pine-trees. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  what  sent  him  here  !  "  said 
JTarry,  walking  up  and  down,  much  disturbed. 

"  0,  he  is  only  going  round  through  the  grove  ;  he  will 
T* 


78  HARRY    AND    HIS   WIFE. 

be  back  again/'  said  Lisette  ;  "  never  fear.  Is  n't  he  a  hand- 
some little  rogue  ? " 

"Lisette,  you  never  can  see  trouble  anywhere!"  said 
Harry,  almost  angrily. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  do,"  said  Lisette,  "  when  you  speak  in  that 
tone  !  Please  don't,  Harry  !  What  should  you  want  me  to 
see  trouble  for? " 

"  I  don't  know,  you  little  thing,"  said  Harry,  stroking 
her  head  fondly. 

"Ah,  there  comes  the  little  rascal,  just  as  I  knew  he 
would!"  said  Lisette.  "He  only  wanted  to  take  a  little 
race  ;  he  has  n't  hurt  the  horse  ;  "  and,  tripping  lightly  out, 
she  caught  the  reins,  just  as  Tomtit  drove  up  to  the  gate  ; 
and  it  seemed  but  a  moment  before  he  was  over  in  the  gar- 
den, with  his  hands  full  of  flowers. 

"Stop,  there,  you  young  rascal,  and  tell  me  what  sent 
you  here  !  "  said  Harry,  seizing  him,  and  shaking  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  Laws,  Massa  Harry,  I  wants  to  get  peaches,  like  other 
folks,"  said  the  boy,  peeping  roguishly  in  at  the  window, 
at  the  tea-table. 

"And  he  shall  have  a  peach,  too,"  said  Lisette,  "and 
some  flowers,  if  he  '11  be  a  good  boy,  and  not  tread  on  my 
borders." 

Tomtit  seized  greedily  at  the  peach  she  gave  him,  and, 
sitting  flat  down  where  he  stood,  and  throwing  the  flowers 
on  the  ground  beside  him,  began  eating  it  with  an  earnest- 
ness of  devotion  as  if  his  whole  being  were  concentrated  in 
the  act.  The  color  was  heightened  in  his  brown  cheek  by 
the  exercise,  and,  with  his  long,  drooping  curls  and  eye- 
lashes, he  looked  a  very  pretty  centre  to  the  flower-piece 
which  he  had  so  promptly  improvised. 

"  Ah,  how  pretty  he  is  !  "  said  Lisette,  touching  Harry's 
elbow.       "  I  wish  he  was  mine  !  " 

"  You  'd  have  your  hands  full,  if  he  was,"  said  Harry, 
eying  the  intruder  discontentedly,  while  Lisette  stood  pick- 


HAERY    AND    HIS    WIFE.  79 

ing  the  hulls  from  a  fine  bunch  of  strawberries  which  she 
was  ready  to  give  him  when  he  had  finished  the  peach. 

"  Beauty  makes  fools  of  all  you  girls,"  said  Harry,  cyni- 
cally. 

"  Is  that  the  reason  I  married  you  ?  "  said  Lisette,  archly. 
"  Well,  I  know  I  could  make  him  good,  if  I  had  the  care  of 
him.     Nothing  like  coaxing  ;  is  there,  Tom  ?  " 

"  I  '11  boun'  there  an't !  "  said  Tom,  opening  his  mouth  for 
the  strawberries  with  much  the  air  of  a  handsome,  saucy 
robin. 

"Well,"  said  Harry,  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  brought 
him  over  here.  Speak,  now,  Tom  !  Were  n't  you  sent 
with  some  message  ?  " 

"  0  laws,  yes!"  said  Tom,  getting  up,  and  scratching 
his  curly  head.  "Miss  Nina  sent  me.  She  wants  you  to 
get  on  dat  ar  horse,  and  make  tracks  for  home  like  split 
foot.  She  done  got  letters  from  two  or  three  of  her  beaux, 
and  she  is  dancing  and  tearing  round  there  real  awful.  She 
done  got  scared,  spects  ;  feard  they  'd  all  come  together." 

"  And  she  sent  you  on  a  message,  and  you  have  n't  told 
me,  all  this  time  !  "  said  Harry,  making  a  motion  as  though 
he  was  going  to  box  the  child's  ears  ;  but  the  boy  glided  out 
of  his  hands  as  if  he  had  been  water,  and  was  gone,  van- 
ishing among  the  shrubbery  of  the  garden  ;  and  while  Harry 
was  mounting  his  horse,  he  reappeared  on  the  roof  of  the 
little  cabin,  caricoling  and  dancing,  shouting  at  the  topmost 
of  his  voice  — 

"  Away  down  old  Virginny, 
D-ere  I  bought  a  yellow  girl  for  a  guinea." 

"  I  '11  give  it  to  you,  some  time  !  "  said  Harry,  shaking  his 
fist  at  him. 

"  No,  he  won't,  either,"  cried  Lisette,  laughing.  "  Come 
down  here,  Tomtit,  and  I  '11  make  a  good  boy  of  you." 


CHAPTER    VI 


THE    DILEMMA. 


In  order  to  understand  the  occasion  which  hurried  Harry 
home,  we  must  go  hack  to  Canema.  Nina,  after  taking  her 
letters  from  the  hands  of  Tomtit,  as  we  have  related,  ran 
back  with  them  into  Mrs.  Nesbit's  room,  and  sat  herself 
down  to  read  them.  As  she  read,  she  evidently  became 
quite  excited  and  discomposed,  crumpling  a  paper  with  her 
little  hand,  and  tapping  her  foot  impatiently  on  the  carpet. 

"  There,  now,  I  'in  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do,  Aunt 
Nesbit !  "  addressing  her  aunt,  because  it  was  her  out- 
spoken habit  to  talk  to  any  body  or  thing  which  happened 
to  be  sitting  next  to  her.  "  I  've  got  myself  into  a  pretty 
scrape  now!  " 

"  I  told  you  you  'd  get  into  trouble,  one  of  these  days  !  " 

"  0,  you  told  me  so  !  If  there  's  anything  I  hate,  it  is  to 
have  anybody  tell  me  'I  told  you  so  !  '  But,  now,  aunt, 
really,  I  know  I  've  been  foolish,  but  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  Here  are  two  gentlemen  coming  together,  that  I 
wouldn't  have  meet  each  other  here  for  the  world  ;  and  I 
don't  know  really  what  I  had  better  do." 

'■'You  'd  better  do  just  as  you  please,  as  you  always  do, 
and  always  would,  ever  since  I  knew  you,"  said  Aunt  Nes- 
bit,  in  a  calm,  indifferent  tone. 

"  But,  really,  aunt,  I  don't  know  what 's  proper  to  do  in 
such  a  case." 

"  Your  and  my  notions  of  propriety,  Nina,  are  so  differ- 
ent, that  I  don't  know  Iioav  to  advise  you.  You  see  the 
consequences,  now,  of  not  attending  to  the  advice  of  your 


THE    DILEMMA.  SI 

friends.  I  always  knew  these  flirtations  of  yours  would 
bring  you  into  trouble.''  And  Aunt  Nesbit  said  this  with 
that  quiet,  satisfied  air  with  which  precise  elderly  people 
so  often  edify  their  thoughtless  young  friends  under  diffi- 
culties. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  want  a  sermon,  now,  Aunt  Nesbit ;  but, 
as  you  Ve  seen  a  great  deal  more  of  the  world  than  I  have, 
I  thought  you  might  help  me  a  little,  just  to  tell  me  whether 
it  would  n't  be  proper  for  me  to  write  and  put  one  of  these 
gentlemen  off ;  or  make  some  excuse  for  me,  or  something. 
I  'm  sure  I  never  kept  house  before.  I  don't  want  to  do 
anything  that  don't  seem  hospitable  ;  and  yet  I  don't  want 
them  to  come  together.     Now,  there,  that 's  flat !  ,; 

There  was  a  long  pause,  in  which  Nina  sat  vexed  and 
coloring,  biting  her  lips,  and  nestling  uneasily  in  her  seat. 

Mrs.  Nesbit  looked  calm  and  considerate,  and  Nina  be- 
gan to  hope  that  she  was  taking  the  case  a  little  to  heart. 

At  last  the  good  old  lady  looked  up,  and  said,  very  qui- 
etly, "  I  wonder  what  time  it  is." 

Nina  thought  she  was  debating  the  expediency  of  sending 
some  message  ;  and  therefore  she  crossed  the  room  with 
great  alacrity,  to  look  at  the  old  clock  in  the  entry. 

"  It 's  half-past  two,  aunt !  "  and  she  stood,  with  her  lips 
apart,  looking  at  Mrs.  Nesbit  for  some  suggestion. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  Rosa,"  said  she,  abstractedly,  "that 
that  onion  in  the  stuffing  does  not  agree  with  me.  It  rose 
on  my  stomach  all  yesterday  morning ;  but  it  's  too  late 
now." 

Nina  actually  stamped  with  anger. 

"  Aunt  Nesbit,  you  are  the  most  selfish  person  I  ever  saw 
in  my  life  !  " 

"Nina,  child,  you  astonish  me  !  "  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  with 
her  wonted  placidity.     "What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  !  "  said  Nina,  "  I  don't  care  a  bit !  I  don't 
see  how  people  can  be  so  !  If  a  dog  should  come  to  me 
and  tell  me  he  was  in  trouble,  I  think  I  should  listen  to  him, 
and  show  some  kind  of  interest  to  help  him !     I  don't  care 


82  THE- DILEMMA. 

how  foolish  anybooVy  has  been  ;  if  they  are  in  trouble,  I  'd 
help  them,  if  I  could  ;  and  I  think  you  might  think  enough 
of  it  to  give  me  some  little  advice  !  " 

"  0,  }Tou  are  talking  about  that  affair,  yet?"  said  her 
aunt.  "  Why,  I  believe  I  told  you  I  didn't  know  what  to 
advise,  did  n't  I  ?  Should  n't  give  way  to  this  temper, 
Nina ;  it 's  very  unladylike,  besides  being  sinful.  But, 
then,  I  don't  suppose  it  's  any  use  for  me  to  talk  !  "  And 
Aunt  Nesbit,  with  an  abused  air,  got  up,  walked  quietly  to 
the  looking-glass,  took  off  her  morning  cap,  unlocked  her 
drawer,  and  laid  it  in  ;  took  out  another,  which  Nina  could 
not  see  differed  a  particle  from  the  last,  held  it  up  thought- 
fully on  her  hand,  and  appeared  absorbed  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  it,  —  while  Nina,  swelling  with  a  mixture  of  anger 
and  mortification,  stood  regarding  her  as  she  leisurely  picked 
out  each  bow,  and  finally,  with  a  decorous  air  of  solemnity, 
arranged  it  upon  her  head,  patting  it  tenderly  down. 

"  Aunt  Nesbit,"  she  said,  suddenly,  as  if  the  words  hurt 
her,  "  I  think  I  spoke  improperly,  and  I  'm  very  sorry  for  it. 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

"0,  it 's  no  matter,  child  ;  I  did  n't  care  about  it.  I  'm 
pretty  well  used  to  your  temper." 

Bang  went  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  Nina  stood  in  the 
entry,  shaking  her  fist  at  it  with  impotent  wrath. 

" You  stony,  stiff,  disagreeable  old  creature!  how  came 
you  ever  to  be  my  mother's  sister?  "  And,  with  the  word 
mother,  she  burst  into  a  tempest  of  tears,  and  rushed  vio- 
lently to  her  own  chamber.  The  first  object  that  she  saw 
was  Milly,  arranging  some  clothes  in  her  drawer ;  and,  to  her 
astonishment,  Nina  rushed  up  to  her,  and,  throwing  her 
arms  round  her  neck,  sobbed  and  wept,  in  such  tumultuous 
excitement,  that  the  good  creature  was  alarmed. 

"Laws  bless  my  soul,  my  dear  little  lamb!  what's  the 
matter  ?  Why,  don't !  Don't,  honey !  Why,  bless  the 
dear  little  soul !  bless  the  dear  precious  lamb  !  who  's  been 
a  hurting  of  it  ?  "    And,  at  each  word  of  endearment,  Nina's 


THE    DILEMMA.  83 

distress  broke  out  afresh,  and  she  sobbed  so  bitterly  that 
the  faithful  creature  really  began  to  be  frightened. 

"Laws,  Miss  Nina,  I  hope  there  an't  nothing  happened 
to  you  now  ! " 

"No,  no,  nothing,  Milly,  only  I  am  lonesome,  and  I  want 
my  mother  !  I  have  n't  got  any  mother  !  Dear  me  !  "  she 
said,  with  a  fresh  burst. 

"Ah,  the  poor  thing!"  said  Milly,  compassionately,  sit- 
ting down,  and  fondling  Nina  in  her  arms,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  babe.  "  Poor  chile  !  Laws,  yes  ;  I  'member  your  ma 
was  a  beautiful  woman  1  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nina,  speaking  between  her  sobs,  "  the  girls 
at  school  had  mothers.  And  there  was  Mary  Brooks,  she 
used  to  read  to  me  her  mother's  letters,  and  I  used  to  feel 
so,  all  the  while,  to  think  nobody  wrote  such  letters  to  me  ! 
And  there  's  Aunt  Nesbit  —  I  don't  care  what  they  say  about 
her  being  religious,  she  is  the  most  selfish,  hateful  creature 
I  ever  did  see  !  I  do  believe,  if  I  was  lying  dead  and  laid 
out  in  the  nest  room  to  her,  she  would  be  thinking  what 
she  'd  get  next  for  dinner  !  " 

"  0,  don't,  my  poor  lamb,  don't !  "  said  Milly,  compas- 
sionately. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  too  !  She  's  always  taking  it  for  granted 
that  I  'm  the  greatest  sinner  on  the  face  of  the  earth !  She 
don't  scold  me  —  she  don't  care  enough  about  me  to  scold  ! 
She  only  takes  it  for  granted,  in  her  hateful,  quiet  way,  that 
I  'm  going  to  destruction,  and  that  she  can't  help  it,  and 
don't  care  !  Supposing  I  'm  not  good  !  —  what 's  to  make  me 
good  ?  Is  it  going  to  make  me  good  for  people  to  sit  up  so 
stiff,  and  tell  me  they  always  knew  I  was  a  fool,  and  a  flirt, 
and  all  that  ?  Milly,  I  've  had  dreadful  turns  of  wanting  to 
be  good,  and  I  've  laid  awake  nights  and  cried  because  I 
was  n't  good.  And  what  makes  it  worse  is,  that  I  think,  if 
Ma  was  alive,  she  could  help  me.  She  was  n't  like  Aunt 
Nesbit,  was  she,  Milly  ?  " 

"  No,  honey,  she  was  n't.  I  '11  tell  you  about  your  ma, 
some  time,  honey." 


84  THE   DILEMMA. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Nina,  "  when  Aunt  Nesbit 
speaks  to  me  in  her  hateful  way,  I  get  angry;  then  I  speak 
in  a  way  that  is  n't  proper,  I  know.  0,  if  she  only  would 
get  angry  with  me  back  again  !  or  if  she  'd  do  anything  in 
the  world  but  stand  still,  in  her  still  way,  telling  me  she  is 
astonished  at  me  !  That 's  a  lie,  too  ;  for  she  never  was 
astonished  at  anything  in  her  life  !  She  has  n't  life  enough 
to  be  !  " 

"Ah,  Miss  Nina,  we  mustn't  spect  more  of  folks  than 
there  is  in  them." 

"  Expect  ?     I  don't  expect !  " 

"  Well,  bless  you,  honey,  when  you  knows  what  folks 
is,  don't  let 's  worry.  Ye  can't  fill  a  quart-cup  out  of  a 
thimble,  honey,  no  way  you  can  fix  it.  There  's  just  whar 
't  is.  I  knowed  your  ma,  and  I 's  knowed  Miss  Loo,  ever 
since  she  was  a  girl.  'Pears  like  they  wan't  no  more  alike 
than  snow  is  like  sugar.  Miss  Loo,  when  she  was  a  girl, 
she  was  that  pretty,  that  everybody  was  wondering  after 
her  ;  but  to  de  love,  dat  ar  went  arter  your  ma.  Could  n't 
tell  why  it  was,  honey.  'Peared  like  Miss  Loo  wan't 
techy,  nor  she  wan't  one  of  your  bursting-out  sort,  scold- 
ing round.  'Peared  like  she  'd  never  hurt  nobody  ;  and  yet 
our  people,  they  could  n't  none  of  dem  bar  her.  'Peared 
like  nobody  did  nothing  for  her  with  a  will." 

"  Well,  good  reason  !  "  said  Nina;  "she  never  did  any- 
thing for  anybody  else  with  a  will !  She  never  cared  for 
anybody !  Now,  I  'm  selfish  ;  I  always  knew  it.  I  do  a 
great  many  selfish  things  ;  but  it 's  a  different  kind  from 
hers.  Do  you  know,  Milly,  she  don't  seem  to  know  she  is 
selfish  ?  There  she  sits,  rocking  in  her  old  chair,  so  sure 
she  's  going  straight  to  heaven,  and  don't  care  whether 
anybody  else  gets  there  or  not !  " 

"  0  laws,  now,  Miss  Nina,  you  's  too  hard  on  her.  Why, 
look  how  patient  she  sits  with  Tomtit,  teaching  him  his 
hymns  and  varses." 

"  And  you  think  that 's  because  she  cares  anything  about 
him  ?     Do  you  know  she  thinks  he  is  n't  fit  to  go  to  heaven, 


THE    DILEMMA.  85 

and  that  if  he  dies  he'  11  go  to  the  had  place.  And  yet,  if 
he  was  to  die  to-morrow,  she  'd  talk  to  you  about  clear- 
starching her  caps  !  No  wonder  the  child  don't  love  her  ! 
She  talks  to  him  just  as  she  does  to  me  ;  tells  him  she 
don't  expect  anything  of  him  —  she  knows  he  '11  never 
come  to  any  good  ;  and  the  little  wretch  has  got  it  by  heart, 
now.  Do  }rou  know  that,  though  I  get  in  a  passion  with 
Tom,  sometimes,  and  though  I  'm  sure  I  should  perish  sit- 
ting boring  with  him  over  those  old  books,  yet  I  really 
believe  I  care  more  for  him  than  she  does  ?  And  he  knows 
it,  too.  He  sees  through  her  as  plain  as  I  do.  You  '11 
never  make  me  believe  that  Aunt  Nesbit  has  got  religion. 
I  know  there  is  such  a  thing  as  religion  ;  but  she  hasn't  got 
it.  It  isn't  all  being  sober,  and  crackling  old  stiff  religious 
newspapers,  and  boring  with  texts  and  hymns,  that  makes 
people  religious.  She  is  just  as  worldly-minded  as  I  am, 
only  it 's  in  another  way.  There,  now,  I  wanted  her  to 
advise  me  about  something,  to-day.  Why,  Milly,  all  girls 
want  somebody  to  talk  with  ;  and  if  she  'd  only  showed 
the  least  interest  in  what  I  said,  she  might  scold  me  and 
lecture  me  as  much  as  she  'd  a  mind  to.  But,  to  have  her 
not  even  hear  me !  And  when  she  must  have  seen  that  I  was 
troubled  and  perplexed,  and  wanted  somebody  to  advise 
me,  she  turned  round  so  cool,  and  began  to  talk  about  the 
onions  and  the  stuffing  !  Got  me  so  angry  !  I  suppose  she 
is  in  her  room,  now,  rocking,  and  thinking  what  a  sinner  I 
am!" 

"Well,  now,  Miss  Nina,  'pears  though  you've  talked 
enough  about  dat  ar  ;  'pears  like  it  won't  make  you  feel 
no  better." 

"  Yes  it  does  make  me  feel  better !  I  had  to  speak  to 
somebody,  Milly,  or  else  I  should  have  burst ;  and  now  I 
wonder  where  Harry  is.  He  always  could  find  a  way  for 
me  out  of  anything." 

"  He  is  gone  over  to  see  his  wife,  I  think,  Miss  Nina." 

"  0,  too  bad  !  Do  send  Tomtit  after  him,  right  away. 
Tell  him  that  I  want  him  to  come  right  home,  this  very 


86  THE    DILEMMA. 

minute  —  something  very  particular.  And,  Milly,  you  just 
go  and  tell  Old  Hundred  to  get  out  the  carriage  and  horses, 
and  I  '11  go  over  and  drop  a  note  in  the  post-office,  myself. 
I  won't  trust  it  to  Tomtit ;  for  I  know  he  '11  lose  it." 

"  Miss  Nina,"  said  Milly,  looking  hesitatingly,  "  I  'spect 
you  don't  know  how  things  go  about  round  here  ;  but  the 
fact  is,  Old  Hundred  has  got  so  kind  of  cur'ous,  lately, 
there  can't  nobody  do  nothing  with  him,  except  Harry. 
Don't  'tend  to  do  nothing  Miss  Loo  tells  him  to.  I 's  feared 
he  '11  make  up  some  story  or  other  about  the  horses  ;  but 
he  won't  get  'em  out — now,  mind,  I  tell  you,  chile  !  " 

"  He  won't !  I  should  like  to  know  if  he  won't,  when  I 
tell  him  to  !  A  pretty  story  that  would  be  !  I  '11  soon  teach 
him  that  he  has  a  live  mistress  —  somebody  quite  different 
from  Aunt  Loo  !  " 

"  Well,  well,  chile,  perhaps  you  'd  better  go.  He  would  n't 
mind  me,  I  know.     Maybe  he  '11  do  it  for  you." 

"  0,  yes  ;  I  '11  just  run  down  to  his  house,  and  hurry  him 
up."  And  Nina,  quite  restored  to  her  usual  good-humor, 
tripped  gayly  across  to  the  cabin  of  Old  Hundred,  that 
stood  the  other  side  of  the  house. 

Old  Hundred's  true  name  was,  in  fact,  John.  But  he  had 
derived  the  appellation  by  which  he  was  always  known, 
from  the  extreme  moderation  of  all  his  movements.  Old 
Hundred  had  a  double  share  of  that  profound  sense  of  the 
dignity  of  his  office  which  is  an  attribute  of  the  tribe  of 
coachmen  in  general.  He  seemed  to  consider  the  horses 
and  carriage  as  a  sort  of  family  ark,  of  which  he  was  the 
high  priest,  and  which  it  was  his  business  to  save  from 
desecration.  According  to  his  own  showing,  all  the  people 
on  the  plantation,  and  indeed  the  whole  world  in  general, 
were  in  a  state  of  habitual  conspiracy  against  the  family 
carriage  and  horses,  and  he  was  standing  for  them,  sin- 
gle-handed, at  the  risk  of  his  life.  It  was  as  much  part 
of  his  duty,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  to  show  cause,  on  every 
occasion,  why  the  carriage  should  not  be  used,  as  it  is  for 
state  attorneys  to  undertake  prosecutions.    And  it  was  also 


THE    DILEMMA.  87 

a  part  of  the  accomplishment  of  his  situation  to  conduct  his 
refusal  in  the  most  decorous  manner  ;  always  showing  that 
it  was  only  the  utter  impossibility  of  the  case  which  pre- 
vented. The  available  grounds  of  refusal  Old  Hundred  had 
made  a  life-study,  and  had  always  a  store  of  them  cut  and 
dried  for  use,  all  ready  at  a  moment's  notice.  In  the  first 
place,  there  were  always  a  number  of  impossibilities  with 
regard  to  the  carriage.  Either  "  it  was  muddy,  and  he  was 
laying  out  to  wash  it;"  or  else  "he  had  washed  it,  and 
couldn't  have  it  splashed;"  or  "he  had  taken  out  the 
back  curtain,  and  had  laid  out  to  put  a  stitch  in  it,  one  of 
dese  yer  days  ;  "  or  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
the  irons.  "He  reckoned  they  was  a  little  bit  sprung." 
He  "  'lowed  he  'd  ask  the  blacksmith  about  it,  some  of  these 
yer  times."  And,  then,  as  to  the  horses  the  possibilities 
were  rich  and  abundant.  What  with  strains,  and  loose 
shoes,  and  stones  getting  in  at  the  hoofs,  dangers  of  all 
sorts  of  complaints,  for  which  he  had  his  own  vocabulary 
of  names,  it  was  next  to  an  impossibility,  according  to 
any  ordinary  rule  of  computing  chances,  that  the  two 
should  be  in  complete  order  together. 

Utterly  ignorant,  however,  of  the  magnitude  of  the  under- 
taking which  she  was  attempting,  and  buoyant  with  the 
consciousness  of  authority,  Nina  tripped  singing  along, 
and  found  Old  Hundred  tranquilly  reclining  in  his  tent-door, 
watching  through  his  half-shut  eyes,  while  the  afternoon 
sunbeam  irradiated  the  smoke  which  rose  from  the  old  pipe 
between  his  teeth.  A  large,  black,  one-eyed  crow  sat 
perching,  with  a  quizzical  air,  upon  his  knee  ;  and  when 
he  heard  Nina's  footsteps  approaching,  cocked  his  remain- 
ing eye  towards  her,  with  a  smart,  observing  attitude,  as  if 
he  had  been  deputed  to  look  out  for  applications  while  his 
master  dozed.  Between  this  crow,  who  had  received  the 
sobriquet  of  Uncle  Jeff,  and  his  master,  there  existed  a 
most  particular  bond  of  friendship  and  amity.  This  was 
further  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  they  were  both 
equally  disliked  by  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  place.     Like 


88  THE   DILEMMA. 

many  people  who  are  called  to  stand  in  responsible  posi- 
tions, Old  Hundred  had  rather  failed  in  the  humble  virtues, 
and  become  dogmatical  and  dictatorial  to  that  degree  that 
nobody  but  his  own  wife  could  do  anything  with  him.  And 
as  to  Jeff,  if  the  principle  of  thievery  could  be  incarnate,  he 
might  have  won  a  temple  among  the  Lacedemonians.  In 
various  skirmishes  and  battles  consequent  on  his  misdeeds, 
Jeff  had  lost  an  eye,  and  had  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
feathers  scalded  off  on  one  side  of  his  head  ;  while  the  re- 
maining ones,  discomposed  by  the  incident,  ever  after  stood 
up  in  a  protesting  attitude,  imparting  something  still  more 
sinister  to  his  goblin  appearance.  In  another  rencounter 
he  had  received  a  permanent  twist  in  the  neck,  which  gave 
him  always  the  appearance  of  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
and  added  not  a  little  to  the  oddity  of  the  general  effect. 
Uncle  Jeff  thieved  with  an  assiduity  and  skill  which  were 
worthy  of  a  better  cause  ;  and,  when  not  upon  any  serious 
enterprise  of  this  kind,  employed  his  time  in  pulling  up 
corn,  scratching  up  newly-planted  flower-seeds,  tangling 
yarn,  pulling  out  knitting-needles,  pecking  the  eyes  of 
sleeping  people,  scratching  and  biting  children,  and  any 
other  little  miscellaneous  mischief  which  occurred  to  him. 
He  was  invaluable  to  Old  Hundred,  because  he  was  a 
standing  apology  for  any  and  all  discoveries  made  on  his 
premises  of  things  which  ought  not  to  have  been  there 
No  matter  what  was  brought  to  light,  —  whether  spoons  from 
the  great  house,  or  a  pair  of  sleeve-buttons,  or  a  handker- 
chief, or  a  pipe  from  a  neighboring  cabin,  —  Jeff  was  always 
called  up  to  answer.  Old  Hundred  regularly  scolded,  on 
these  occasions,  and  declared  he  was  enough  to  "spile  the 
character  of  any  man's  house."  And  Jeff  would  look  at 
him  comically  over  the  shoulder,  and  wink  his  remaining 
eye,  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  scolding  was  a  settled 
thing  between  them,  and  that  he  wasn't  going  to  take  it  at 
all  in  ill  part. 

"  Uncle  John,"  said  Nina,  "  I  want  you  to  get  the  car- 


THE    DILEMMA.  89 

riage  out  for  me,  right  away.     I  want  to  take  a  ride  over 
the  cross  run." 

"  Laws  bless  you  sweet  face,  honey,  chile,  I 's  dreadful 
sorry  ;  but  you  can't  do  it  dis  yer  day." 

"Can't  do  it!  why  not?" 

"  Why,  bless  you,  chile,  it  an't  possible,  no  way.  Can't 
have  the  carriage  and  bosses  dis  yer  arternoon." 

"  But  I  must  go  over  to  cross  run  to  the  post-office.  I 
must  go  this  minute  !  " 

"  Law,  chile,  you  can't  do  it !  fur  you  can't  walk,  and 
it 's  sartain  you  can't  ride,  because  dese  yer  hosses,  nor  dis 
yer  carriage,  can't  stir  out  dis  yer  arternoon,  no  way  you 
can  fix  it.     Mout  go,  perhaps,  to-morrow,  or  next  week." 

"  0,  Uncle  John,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  I  want 
them  this  afternoon,  and  I  say  I  must  have  them  !  " 

"No,  you  can't,  chile,"  said  Old  Hundred,  in  a  tender, 
condescending  tone,  as  if  he  was  speaking  to  a  baby.  "  I 
tell  you  dat  ar  is  impossible.  Why,  bless  your  soul,  Miss 
Nina,  de  curtains  is  all  off  de  carriage  !  " 

"  Well,  put  them  on  again,  then  !  " 

"  Ah,  Miss  Nina,  dat  ar  an't  all.  Pete  was  desperate 
sick,  last  night ;  took  with  de  thumps,  powerful  bad.  Why, 
Miss  Nina,  he  was  dat  sick  I  had  to  be  up  with  him  most  all 
night !  "  And,  while  Old  Hundred  thus  adroitly  issued  this 
little  work  of  fiction,  the  raven  nodded  waggishly  at  Nina, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "You  hear  that  fellow,  now  !  " 

Nina  stood  quite  perplexed,  biting  her  lips,  and  Old  Hun- 
dred seemed  to  go  into  a  profound  slumber. 

"I  don't  believe  but  what  the  horses  can  go  to-day!  I 
mean  to  go  and  look." 

"  Laws,  honey,  chile,  ye  can't,  now  ;  de  do's  is  all  locked, 
and  I  've  got  de  key  in  my  pocket.  Every  one  of  dem 
critturs  would  have  been  killed  forty  times  over  'fore  now. 
I  think  everybody  in  dis  yer  world  is  arter  clem  dar  crit- 
turs. Miss  Loo,  she 's  wanting  'em  to  go  one  way,  and 
Harry  's  allers  usin'  de  critturs.  Got  one  out,  dis  yer  arter- 
noon, riding  over  to  see  his  wife.     Don't  see  no  use  in  his 


90  THE    DILEMMA. 

riding  round  so  grand,  noway  !  Laws,  Miss  Nina,  your 
pa  used  to  say  to  me,  says  he,  '  Uncle  John,  you  knows 
more  about  dem  critturs  dan  I  do  ;  and,  now  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Uncle  John  —  you  take  care  of  dem  critturs  ;  don't  you 
let  nobody  kill 'em  for  nothing.'  Now,  Miss  Nina,  I 's 
always  a  walking  in  the  steps  of  the  colonel's  'rections. 
Now,  good,  clar,  bright  weather,  over  good  roads,  I  likes  to 
trot  the  critturs  out.  Dat  ar  is  reasonable.  But,  den,  what 
roads  is  over  the  cross  run,  I  want  to  know?  Dem  dere 
roads  is  de  most  mis'ablest  things  you  ever  did  see.  Mud  ! 
Hi !  Ought  for  to  see  de  mud  down  dar  by  de  creek  !  Why, 
de  bridge  all  tared  off!  Man  drowned  in  dat  clar  creek 
once  !  Was  so  !  It  an't  no  sort  of  road  for  young  ladies 
to  go  over.  Tell  you,  Miss  Nina ;  why  don'  you  let  Harry 
carry  your  letter  over  ?  If  he  must  be  ridin'  round  de 
country,  don't  see  why  he  could  n't  do  some  good  wid  his 
ridin'.  Why,  de  carriage  would  n't  get  over  before  ten 
o'clock,  dis  yer  night !  Now,  mine,  I  tell  you.  Besides, 
it's  gwine  fur  to  rain.  I 's  been  feeling  dat  ar  in  my  corns, 
all  dis  yer  morning;  and  Jeff,  he  's  been  acting  like  the  berry 
debil  hisself —  de  way  he  always  does  'fore  it  rains.  Never 
knowed  dat  ar  sign  to  fail." 

"The  short  of  the  matter  is,  Uncle  John,  you  are  deter- 
mined not  to  go,"  said  Nina.  "  But  I  tell  you  you  shall 
go  ! — there,  now  !  Now,  do  you  get  up  immediately,  and 
get  out  those  horses  !  " 

Old  Hundred  still  sat  quiet,  smoking  ;  and  Nina,  after  reit- 
erating her  orders  till  she  got  thoroughly  angry,  began,  at 
last,  to  ask  herself  the  question,  how  she  was  going  to  carry 
them  into  execution.  Old  Hundred  appeared  to  have  de- 
scended into  himself  in  a  profound  revery,  and  betrayed 
not  the  smallest  sign  of  hearing  anything  she  said. 

"  I  wish  Harry  would  come  back  quick,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, as  she  pensively  retraced  her  steps  through  the  garden  ; 
but  Tomtit  had  taken  the  commission  to  go  for  him  in  his 
usual  leisurely  way,  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  after- 
noon on  the  road. 


THE    DILEMMA.  91 

"Now,  an't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  you  mean  old  nig- 
ger!" said  Aunt  Rose,  the  wife  of  Old  Hundred,  who  had 
been  listening  to  the  conversation  ;  "  talking  'bout  de  creek, 
and  dc  mud,  and  de  critturs,  and  lor  knows  what  all,  when 
we  all  knows  it 's  nothing  but  your  laziness  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Old  Hundred,  "  and  what  would  come  o' 
the  critturs  if  I  was  n't  lazy,  I  want  to  know  ?  Laziness  ! 
it 's  the  berry  best  thing  for  the  critturs  can  be.  Where  'd 
dem  horses  a  been  now,  if  I  had  been  one  of  your  highfelu- 
tin  sort,  always  driving  round  ?  Where  'd  dey  a  been, 
and  what  would  dey  a  been,  hey  ?  Who  wants  to  see  bosses 
all  skin  and  bone  ?  Lord  !  if  I  had  been  like  some  o'  de 
coachmen,  de  buzzards  would  have  had  the  picking  of  dem 
critturs,  long  ago  !  " 

"  I  rally  believe  that  you've  told  dem  dar  lies  till  you 
begin  to  believe  them  yourself!  "  said  Rose.  "  Telling  our 
dear,  sweet  young  lady  about  your  being  up  with  Pete  all 
night,  when  de  Lord  knows  you  laid  here  snoring  fit  to  tar 
deroof  off!" 

"  Well,  must  say  something  !  Folks  must  be  'spectful  to 
de  ladies.  Course  I  could  n't  tell  her  I  would  n't  take  de 
critturs  out;  so  I  just  trots  out  scuse.  Ah!  lots  of  dem 
scuses  I  keeps  !  I  tell  you,  now,  scuses  is  excellent  things. 
Why,  scuses  is  like  dis  yer  grease  that  keeps  de  w^nels 
from  screaking.  Lord  bless  you,  de  whole  world  turns  rouni 
on  scuses.  Whar  de  world  be  if  everybody  was  such  fools 
to  tell  the  raal  reason  for  everything  they  are  gwine  for  to 
do,  or  an't  gwine  fur  to  !  " 


CHAPTER    VII. 

CONSULTATION. 

"0,  Harry,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  back!  In  such 
trouble  as  I  've  been  to-day  !  Don't  you  think,  this  very 
morning1,  as  I  was  sitting  in  Aunt  Nesbit's  room,  Tomtit 
brought  up  these  two  letters  ;  and  one  of  them  is  from  Clay- 
ton, and  the  other  from  Mr.  Carson  ;  and,  now,  see  here  what 
Clayton  says  :  '  I  shall  have  business  that  will  take  me  in 
your  vicinity  next  week  ;  and  it  is  quite  possible,  unless  I 
hear  from  you  to  the  contrary,  that  you  may  see  me  at  Ca- 
nema  next  Friday  or  Saturday.'  Well,  then,  see  here  ; 
there  's  another  from  Mr.  Carson,  —  that  hateful  Carson  ! 
Now,  you  see,  he  has  n't  got  my  letter  ;  says  he  is  coming. 
What  impudence  !  I  'm  tired  to  death  of  that  creature,  and 
he  '11  be  here  just  as  certain  !  Disagreeable  people  always 
do  keep  their  promises  !     He  '11  certainly  be  here  !  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Nina,  you  recollect  you  said  you  thought  it 
would  be  good  fun." 

"  0,  Harry,  don't  bring  that  up,  I  beg  of  you  !  The  fact 
is,  Harry,  I  've  altered  my  mind  about  that.  You  know 
I  've  put  a  stop  to  all  those  foolish  things  at  once,  and  am 
done  with  them.  You  know  I  wrote  to  Carson  and  Em- 
mons, both,  that  my  sentiments  had  changed,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  that  the  girls  always  say.  I  'm  going  to  dis- 
miss all  of  'em  at  once,  and  have  no  more  fooling." 

"  What,  all  ?     Mr.  Clayton  and  all  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  exactly, — no.  Do  you  know, 
Harry,  I  think  his  letters  are  rather  improving  ?  —  at  least, 
they  are  different  letters  from  any  I  've  got  before  ;  and, 


CONSULTATION.  93 

though  I  don't  think  I  shall  break  my  heart  after  him,  yet 
I  like  to  get  them.  But  the  other  two  I  'm  sick  to  death 
of;  and,  as  for  having  that  creature  boring  round  here,  I 
won't !  At  any  rate,  I  don't  want  him  and  Clayton  here 
together.  I  would  n't  ha-v  9  them  together  for  the  world  ; 
and  I  wrote  a  letter  to  keep  Carson  off,  this  morning,  and 
I  've  been  in  trouble  all  day.  Everybody  has  plagued  me. 
Aunt  Nesbit  only  gave  me  one  of  her  mopy  lectures  about 
flirting,  and  would  n't  help  me  in  the  least.  And,  then,  Old 
Hundred  :  I  wanted  him  to  get  out  the  carriage  and  horses 
for  me  to  go  over  and  put  this  letter  in  the  office,  and  I 
never  saw  such  a  creature  in  my  life !  I  can't  make  him  do 
anything!  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  use  is  of  having 
servants,  if  you  can't  get  anything  done  !  " 

"0,  as  to  Old  Hundred,  I  understand  him,  and  he  under- 
stands me,"  said  Harry.  "I  never  find  any  trouble  with 
him  ;  but  he  is  a  provoking  old  creature.  He  stands  very 
much  on  the  dignity  of  his  office.  But,  if  you  want  your 
letter  carried  to-night,  I  can  contrive  a  safer  way  than  that, 
if  you  '11  trust  it  to  me." 

"Ah!  well,  do  take  it!" 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "I'll  send  a  messenger  across  on 
horseback,  and  I  have  means  to  make  him  faithful." 

"  Well,  Harry,  Harry  !  "  said  Nina,  catching  at  his  sleeve 
as  he  was  going  out,  "  come  back  again,  won't  you  ?  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

During  Harry's  absence,  our  heroine  drew  a  letter  from 
her  bosom,  and  read  it  over. 

"How  well  he  writes!"  she  said  to  herself.  "So  dif- 
ferent from  the  rest  of  them  !  I  wish  he  'd  keep  away  from 
here, — that's  what  I  do!  It's  a  pretty  thing  to  get  his 
letters,  but  I  don't  think  I  want  to  see  him.  0,  clear!  I  wish 
I  had  somebody  to  talk  to  about  it  —  Aunt  Nesbit  is  so 
cross  !  I  can't  —  no,  I  won't  care  about  him  !  Harry  is  a 
kind  soul." 

"  Ah,  Harry,  have  you  sent  the  letter  ? "  said  she, 
eagerly,  as  he  entered. 


94  CONSULTATION. 

"  I  have,-  Miss  Nina  ;  but  I  can't  flatter  you  too  much. 
I  'm  afraid  it's  too  late  for  the  mail  —  though  there  's  never 
any  saying  when  the  mail  goes  out,  within  two  or  three 
hours." 

"  Well,  I  hope  it  will  stay  for  me,  once.  If  that  stupid 
creature  comes,  why,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  !  He  's 
so  presuming  !  and  he  '11  squeak  about  with  those  horrid 
shoes  of  his  ;  and  then,  I  suppose,  it  will  all  come  out, 
one  way  or  another  ;  and  I  don't  know  what  Clayton  will 
think." 

"  But  I  thought  you  didn't  care  what  he  thought." 

"  Well,  you  know,  he  's  been  writing  to  me  all  about  his 
family.  There  's  his  father,  is  a  very  distinguished  man,  of 
a  very  old  family ;  and  he  's  been  writing  to  me  about  his 
sister,  the  most  dreadfully  sensible  sister,  he  has  got  — 
good,  lovely,  accomplished,  and  pious  !  0,  dear  me  !  I 
don't  know  what  in  the  world  he  ever  thought  of  me  for  ! 
And,  do  you  think,  there  's  a  postscript  from  his  sister, 
written  elegantly  as  can  be  !  " 

"As  to  family,  Miss  Nina,"  said  Harry,  "I  think  the 
Gordons  can  hold  up  their  heads  with  anybody  ;  and,  then, 
I  rather  think  you'll  like  Miss  Clayton." 

"  Ah  !  but,  then,  Harry,  this  talking  about  fathers  and 
sisters,  it 's  bringing  the  thing  awfully  near  !  It  looks  so 
much,  you  know,  as  if  I  really  were  caught,  Do  you  know, 
Harry,  I  think  I  'm  just  like  my  pony  ?  You  know,  she  likes 
to  have  you  come  and  offer  her  corn,  and  stroke  her  neck  ; 
and  she  likes  to  make  you  believe  she  's  going  to  let  you 
catch  her  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  putting  a  bridle  on  her, 
she  's  off  in  a  minute.  Now,  that 's  the  way  with  me.  It 's 
rather  exciting,  you  know,  these  beaux,  and  love-letters, 
and  talking  sentiment,  going  to  the  opera,  and  taking  rides 
on  horseback,  and  all  that.  But,  when  men  get  to  talking 
about  their  fathers,  and  their  sisters,  and  to  act  as  if  they 
were  sure  of  me,  I  'm  just  like  Sylfine  —  I  want  to  be  off. 
You  know,  Harry,  I  think  it 's  a  very  serious  thing,  this 
beino;  married.    It 's  dreadful  !    I  don't  want  to  be  a  woman 


CONSULTATION.  95 

grown.  I  wish  I  could  always  be  a  girl,  and  live  just  as 
I  have  lived,  and  have  plenty  more  girls  come  and  see  me, 
and  have  fun.  I  have  n't  been  a  bit  happy  lately,  not  a 
bit  ;  and  I  never  was  unhappy  before  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  write  to  Mr.  Clayton,  and  break  it 
all  off,  if  you  feel  so  about  it  ? " 

"  Well,  why  don't  I  ?  I  don't  know.  I've  had  a  great 
mind  to  do  it ;  but  I  'm  afraid  I  should  feel  worse  than  I  do 
now.  He  \s  coming  just  like  a  great  dark  shadow  over  my 
life,  and  everything  is  beginning  to  feel  so  real  to  me  !  I 
don't  want  to  take  up  life  in  earnest.  I  read  a  story,  once, 
about  Undine  ;  and,  do  you  know,  Harry,  I  think  I  feel  just 
as  Undine  did,  when  she  felt  her  soul  coming  in  her  ?  " 

"And  is  Clayton  Knight  Heldebound  ? "  said  LTarry, 
smiling. 

"  I  don't  know.  What  if  he  should  be  ?  Now,  Harry, 
you  see  the  fact  is  that  sensible  men  get  their  heads  turned 
by  such  kind  of  girls  as  I  am  ;  and  they  pet  us,  and  humor 
us.  Bnt,  then,  I'm  afraid  they're  thinking,  all  the  while, 
that  their  turn  to  rule  is  coming,  by  and  by.  They  marry  us 
because  they  think  they  are  going  to  make  us  over  ;  and 
what  I  'm  afraid  of  is,  I  never  can  be  made  over.  Don't 
think  I  was  cut  out  right  in  the  first  place  ;  and  there  never 
will  be  much  more  of  me  than  there  is  now.  And  he  '11  be 
comparing  me  with  his  pattern  sister ;  and  I  shan't  be  any 
the  more  amiable  for  that.  Now,  his  sister  is  what  folks  call 
highly-educated,  you  know,  Harry.  She  understands  all 
about  literature,  and  everything.  As  for  me,  I  've  just  culti- 
vation enough  to  appreciate  a  fine  horse — that's  the  extent. 
And  yet  I  'm  proud.  I  would  n't  wish  to  stand  second,  in 
his  opinion,  even  to  his  sister.  So,  there  it  is.  That's  the 
way  with  us  girls  !  We  are  always  wanting  what  we  know 
we  ought  not  to  have,  and  are  not  willing  to  take  the  trouble 
to  get." 

"  Miss  Nina,  if  you  '11  let  me  speak  my  mind  out  frankly, 
now,  I  want  to  offer  one  piece  of  advice.  Just  be  perfectly 
true  and  open  with  Mr.  Clayton  ;  and,  if  he  and  Mr.  Carson 


96  CONSULTATION. 

should  come  together,  just  tell  him  frankly  how  the  matter 
stands.  You  are  a  Gordon,  and  they  say  truth  always  runs 
in  the  Gordon  blood  ;  and  now,  Miss  Nina,  you  are  no  longer 
a  school-girl,  but  a  young  lady  at  the  head  of  the  estate." 

He  stopped,  and  hesitated. 

"Well,  Harry,  you  needn't  stop.  I  understand  you  — 
got  a  few  grains  of  sense  left,  I  hope,  and  haven't  got  so 
many  friends  that  I  can  afford  to  get  angry  with  you  for 
nothing." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Harry,  thoughtfully,  "that  your  aunt 
will  be  well  enough  to  be  down  to  the  table.  Have  you 
told  her  how  matters  stand  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  Aunt  Loo  ?  Catch  me  telling  her  anything  !  No, 
Harry,  I  've  got  to  stand  all  alone.  I  have  n't  any  mother, 
and  I  have  n't  any  sister ;  and  Aunt  Loo  is  worse  than  no- 
body, because  it 's  provoking  to  have  somebody  round  that 
you  feel  might  take  an  interest,  and  ought  to,  and  don't 
care  a  red  cent  for  you.  Well,  I  declare,  if  I'm  not  much, 
—  if  I'm  not  such  a  model  as  Miss  Clayton,  there, *—  how 
could  any  one  expect  it,  when  I  have  just  come  up  by  my- 
self, first  at  the  plantation,  here,  and  then  at  that  French 
boarding-school  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Harry,  boarding-schools 
are  not  what  they  're  cried  up  to  be.  It 's  good  fun,  no 
doubt,  but  we  never  learnt  anything  there.  That  is  to  say, 
we  never  learnt  it  internally,  but  had  it  just  rubbed  on  to 
us  outside.  A  girl  can't  help,  of  course,  learning  some- 
thing ;  and  I  've  learnt  just  what  I  happened  to  like  and 
could  n't  help,  and  a  deal  that  is  n't  of  the  most  edifying 
nature  besides." 

Well  !  we  shall  see  what  will  come  ! 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

OLD    TIFF. 

"  I  say,  Tiff,  do  you  think  he  will  come,  to-night  ?  " 

"Laws,  laws,  Missis,  how  can  Tiff  tell?  I 's  been  a 
gazin'  out  de  do'.     Don't  see  nor  hear  nothin'.  " 

"It's  so  lonesome  !  —  so  lonesome  !  —  and  the  nights  so 
long  !  " 

And  the  speaker,  an  emaciated,  feeble  little  woman,  turned 
herself  uneasily  on  the  ragged  pallet  where  she  was  lying, 
and,  twirling  her  slender  fingers  nervously,  gazed  up  at  the 
rough,  unplastered  beams  above. 

The  room  was  of  the  coarsest  and  rudest  cast.  The  hut 
was  framed  of  rough  pine  logs,  filled  between  the  crevices 
with  mud  and  straw  ;  the  floor  made  of  rough-split  planks, 
unevenly  jointed  together  ;  the  window  was  formed  by  some 
single  panes  arranged  in  a  row  where  a  gap  had  been  made 
in  one  of  the  logs.  At  one  end  was  a  rude  chimney  of 
sticks,  where  smouldered  a  fire  of  pine-cones  and  brush- 
wood, covered  over  with  a  light  coat  of  white  ashes.  On  the 
mantle  over  it  was  a  shelf,  which  displayed  sundry  vials,  a 
cracked  teapot  and  tumbler,  some  medicinal-looking  pack- 
ages, a  turkey's  wing,  much  abridged  and  defaced  by 
frequent  usage,  some  bundles  of  dry  herbs,  and  lastly  a 
gayly-painted  mug  of  coarse  crockery-ware,  containing  a 
bunch  of  wild-flowers.  On  pegs,  driven  into  the  logs,  were 
arranged  different  articles  of  female  attire,  and  divers  little 
coats  and  dresses,  which  belonged  to  smaller  wearers,  with 
now  and  then  soiled  and  coarse  articles  of  man's  apparel. 

The  woman,  who  lay  upon  a  coarse  chaff  pallet  in  the  cor- 
9 


98  m         OLD    TIFF, 

ner,  was  one  who  once  might  have  been  pretty.  Her  skin 
was  fair,  her  hair  soft  and  curling,  her  eyes  of  a  beautiful 
blue,  her  hands  thin  and  transparent  as  pearl.  But  the 
deep,  dark  circles  under  the  eyes,  the  thin,  white  lips,  the 
attenuated  limbs,  the  hurried  breathing,  and  the  burning 
spots  in  the  cheek,  told  that,  whatever  she  might  have  been, 
she  was  now  not  long  for  this  world. 

Beside  her  bed  was  sitting  an  old  negro,  in  whose  close- 
curling  wool  age  had  begun  to  sprinkle  flecks  of  white. 
His  countenance  presented,  physically,  one  of  the  most  un- 
comely specimens  of  negro  features  ;  and  would  have  been 
positively  frightful,  had  it  not  been  redeemed  by  an  expres- 
sion of  cheerful  kindliness  which  beamed  from  it.  His  face 
was  of  ebony  blackness,  with  a  wide,  upturned  nose,  a 
mouth  of  portentous  size,  guarded  by  clumsy  lips,  reveal- 
ing teeth  which  a  shark  might  have  envied.  The  only  fine 
feature  was  his  large,  black  eyes,  which,  at  the  present, 
were  concealed  by  a  huge  pair  of  plated  spectacles,  placed 
very  low  upon  his  nose,  and  through  which  he  was  direct- 
ing his  sight  upon  a  child's  stocking,  that  he  was  busily 
darning.  At  his  foot  was  a  rude  cradle,  made  of  a  gum- 
tree  log,  hollowed  out  into  a  trough,  and  wadded  by  various 
old  fragments  of  flannel,  in  which  slept  a  very  young  infant. 
Another  child,  of  about  three  years  of  age,  was  sitting  on 
the  negro's  knee,  busily  playing  with  some  pine-cones  and 
mosses. 

The  figure  of  the  old  negro  was  low  and  stooping ;  and 
he  wore,  pinned  round  his  shoulders,  a  half-handkerchief  or 
shawl  of  red  flannel,  arranged  much  as  an  old  woman  would 
have  arranged  it.  One  or  two  needles,  with  coarse,  black 
thread  dangling  to  them,  were  stuck  in  on  his  shoulder ; 
and,  as  he  busily  darned  on  the  little  stocking,  he  kept  up 
a  kind  of  droning  intermixture  of  chanting  and  talking  to 
the  child  on  his  knee. 

"  So,  ho,  Teddy  !  —  bub  dar !  —  my  man  !  —  sit  still.!  — 
'cause  yerma's  sick,  and  sister's  gone  for  medicine.  Dar, 
Tiff  '11  sing  to  his  little  man. 


OLD    TIFF,  99 

'  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem, 
Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem, 

And  in  a  manger  laid.' 

Take  car,  dar  !  —  clat  ar  needle  scratch  yer  little  fingers  ! 
—  poor  little  fingers!  Ah,  be  still,  now! — play  wid  yer 
pretty  tings,  and  see  what  yer  pa  '11  bring  ye  !  " 

"  0,  dear  me  !  —  well !  "  said  the  woman  on  the  bed,  "  I 
shall  give  up  !  " 

"  Bress  de  Lord,  no,  missis  !  "  said  Tiff,  laying  down  the 
stocking,  and  holding  the  child  to  him  with  one  hand,  while 
the  other  was  busy  in  patting  and  arranging  the  bed- 
clothes. "No  use  in  givin'  up!  Why,  Lord  bress  you, 
missis,  we  '"11  be  all  up  right  agin  in  a  few  days.  Work 
has  been  kinder  pressing  lately,  and  chil'ns  clothes  an't 
quite  so  'speckable  ;  but  den  I 's  doin'  heaps  o' mendin'. 
See  dat  ar !  "  said  he,  holding  up  a  slip  of  red  flannel,  re- 
splendent with  a  black  patch,  "  dat  ar  hole  won't  go  no 
furder- — and  it  docs  well  enough  for  Teddy  to  wear  rollin' 
round  de  do',  and  such  like  times,  to  save  his  bettermost. 
And  de  way  I 's  put  de  yarn  in  dese  yer  stockings  an't  slow. 
Den  I 's  laid  out  to  take  a  stitch  in  Teddy's  shoes  ;  and  dat 
ar  hole  in  de  kiverlet,  dat  ar  '11  be  stopped  'fore  morning. 
0,  let  me  alone  !  —  he  !  he  !  he  !  — Ye  did  n't  keep  Tiff  for 
nothing,  missis  —  ho,  ho,  ho  !  "  And  the  black  face  seemed 
really  to  become  unctuous  with  the  oil  of  gladness,  as  Tiff 
proceeded  in  his  work  of  consolation. 

"  0,  Tiff,  Tiff  !  you  're  a  good  creature  !  But  you  don't 
know.  Here  I  've  been  lying  alone  day  after  clay,  and  he  off 
nobody  knows  where  !  And  when  he  comes,  it  '11  be  only  a 
day,  and  he  's  off;  and  all  he  does  don't  amount  to  anything 
■ — all  miserable  rubbish  brought  home  and  traded  off  for  other 
rubbish.  0,  what  a  fool  I  was  for  being  married  !  0,  clear  ! 
girls  little  know  what  marriage  is  !  I  thought  it  was  so 
dreadful  to  be  an  old  maid,  and  a  pretty  thing  to  get  mar- 
ried !  But,  0,  the  pain,  and  worry,  and  sickness,  and  suffer- 
ing, I  've  gone  through  !  —  always  wandering  from  place  to 
place,  never  settled ;  one  thing  going  after  another,  wor- 


100  OLD    TIFF. 

rying,  watching,  weary,  —  and  all  for  nothing,  for  I  am 
worn  out,  and  I  shall  die  !  " 

"  0,  Lord,  no  !  "  said  Tiff,  earnestly.  "  Lor,  Tiff '11  make 
ye  some  tea,  and  give  it  to  ye,  ye  poor  lamb  !  It 's  drefful 
hard,  so  't  is  ;  but  times  '11  mend,  and  massa  '11  come  round 
and  be  more  settled,  like,  and  Teddy  will  grow  up  and  help 
his  ma  ;  and  I  'm  sure  dere  is  n't  a  pearter  young  un  dan 
dis  yer  puppet !  "  said  he,  turning  fondly  to  the  trough 
where  the  little  fat,  red  mass  of  incipient  humanity  was 
beginning  to  throw  up  two  small  fists,  and  to  utter  sundry 
small  squeaks,  to  intimate  his  desire  to  come  into  notice. 

"Lor,  now,"  said  he,  adroitly  depositing  Teddy  on  the 
floor,  and  taking  up  the  baby,  whom  he  regarded  fondly 
through  his  great  spectacles  ;  "  stretch  away,  my  pretty ! 
stretch  away  !  ho-e-ho  !  Lor,  if  he  has  n't  got  his  mammy's 
eye,  for  all  dis  worl !  Ah,  brave  !  See  him,  missis  !  "  said 
he,  laying  the  little  bundle  on  the  bed  by  her.  "Did  ye 
ever  see  a  peartier  young  un  ?  He,  he,  he  !  Dar,  now,  his 
mammy  should  take  him,  so  she  should  !  and  Tiff '11  make 
mammy  some  tea,  so  he  will!"  And  Tiff,  in  a  moment, 
was  on  his  knees,  carefully  laying  together  the  ends  of  the 
burned  sticks,  and,  blowing  a  cloud  of  white  ashes,  which 
powdered  his  woolly  head  and  red  shawl  like  snow-flakes, 
while  Teddy  was  busy  in  pulling  the  needles  out  of  some 
knitting-work  which  hung  in  a  bag  by  the  fire. 

Tiff,  having  started  the  fire  by  blowing,  proceeded  very 
carefully  to  adjust  upon  it  a  small,  black  porringer  of  water, 
singing,  as  he  did  so, 

"  My  way  is  dark  and  cloudy, 

So  it  is,  so  it  is; 
My  way  is  dark  and  cloudy, 
All  de  day." 

Then,  rising  from  his  work,  he  saw  that  the  poor,  weak 
mother  had  clasped  the  baby  to  her  bosom,  and  was  sobbing 
very  quietly.  Tiff,  as  he  stood  there,  with  his  short,  square, 
ungainly  figure,  his  long  arms  hanging  out  from  his  side 


OLD    TIFF.  101 

like  bows,  his  back  covered  by  the  red  shawl,  looked  much 
like  a  compassionate  tortoise  standing-  on  its  hind  legs.  He 
looked  pitifully  at  the  sight,  took  off  his  glasses  and  wiped 
his  eyes,  and  lifted  up  his  voice  in  another  stave  : 

"  But  we  '11  join  de  forty  tousand,  by  and  by, 

So  we  will,  so  we  will. 
We  '11  join  de  forty  tousand,  upon  de  golden  shore, 
And  our  sorrows  will  be  gone  forevermore,  more,  more." 

"  Bress  my  soul,  Mas'r  Teddy  !  now  us  been  haulin'  out 
de  needles  from  Miss  Fanny's  work  !  dat  ar  an't  purty,  now ! 
Tiff '11  be  'shamed  of  ye,  and  ye  do  like  dat  when  yer  ma  's 
sick  !  Don't  ye  know  ye  must  be  good,  else  Tiff  won't  tell 
ye  no  stories  !  Dar,  now,  sit  down  on  dis  yer  log  ;  dat  ar  's 
just  the  nicest  log  !  plenty  o'  moss  on  it  yer  can  be  a  pickin' 
out !  Now,  yer  sit  still  dar,  and  don't  be  interruptin'  yer 
ma." 

The  urchin  opened  a  wide,  round  pair  of  blue  eyes  upon 
Tiff,  looking  as  if  he  were  mesmerized,  and  sat,  with  a  quiet, 
subdued  air,  upon  his  log,  while  Tiff  went  fumbling  about  in 
a  box  in  the  corner.  After  some  rattling,  he  produced  a 
pine-knot,  as  the  daylight  was  fading  fast  in  the  room,  and, 
driving  it  into  a  crack  in  another  log  which  stood  by  the 
chimney  corner,  he  proceeded  busily  to  light  it,  muttering, 
as  he  did  so, 

"  Want  to  make  it  more  cheerful  like." 

Then  he  knelt  down  and  blew  the  coals  under  the  little 
porringer,  which,  like  pine-coals  in  general,  always  sulked 
and  looked  black  when  somebody  was  not  blowing  them. 
He  blew  vigorously,  regardless  of  the  clouds  of  ashes  which 
encircled  him,  and  which  settled  even  on  the  tips  of  his  eye- 
lashes, and  balanced  themselves  on  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Bress  de  Lord,  I 's  dreadful  strong  in  my  breff !  horl, 
dey  might  have  used  me  in  blacksmissin  !  I 's  kep  dis  yer 
chimney  a  gwine  dis  many  a  day.  I  wonder,  now,  what 
keeps  Miss  Fanny  out  so  long." 

And  Tiff  rose  up  with  the  greatest  precaution,  and,  glanc- 


102  OLD    TIFF. 

ing  every  moment  towards  the  bed,  and  almost  tipping  him- 
self over  in  his  anxiety  to  walk  softly,  advanced  to  the 
rude  door,  which  opened  with  a  wooden  latch  and  string, 
opened  it  carefully,  and  looked  out.  Looking  out  with  him, 
we  perceive  that  the  little  hut  stands  alone,  in  the  heart  of 
a  dense  pine  forest,  which  shuts  it  in  on  every  side. 

Tiff  held  the  door  open  a  few  moments  to  listen.  No 
sound  was  heard  but  the  shivering  wind,  swaying  and  surg- 
ing in  melancholy  cadences  through  the  long  pine-leaves,  — 
a  lonesome,  wailing,  uncertain  sound. 

"  Ah  !  dese  yer  pine-trees  !  dey  always  a  talkin'  !  "  said 
Tiff  to  himself,  in  a  sort  of  soliloquy.  "  Whisper,  whisper, 
whisper  !  De  Lord  knows  what  it 's  all  about !  dey  never 
tells  folks  what  dey  wants  to  know.  Hark  !  da  is  Foxy,  as 
sure  as  I  'm  a  livin  sinner  !  Ah  !  dar  she  is  !  "  as  a  quick, 
loud  bark  reverberated.  "  Ah,  ha  !  Foxy  !  you  '11  bring  her 
along  !  "  caressing  a  wolfish-looking,  lean  cur,  who  came 
bounding  through  the  trees. 

"  Ah,  yer  good-for-nothing  !  what  makes  yer  run  so  fast, 
and  leave  yer  missus  behind  ye  ?     Hark  !  what 's  dat !  " 

The  clear  voice  came  carolling  gayly  from  out  the  pine- 
trees, 

"  If  you  get  there  before  I  do  — 
I  'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan." 

Whereupon  Tiff,  kindling  with  enthusiasm,  responded, 

"  Look  out  for  mo  —  I  'm  coming  too  — 
I  'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan." 

The  response  was  followed  by  a  gay  laugh,  as  a  childish 
voice  shouted,  from  the  woods, 

"  Ha  !  Tiff,  you  there  ?  " 

And  immediately  a  bold,  bright,  blue-eyed  girl,  of  about 
eight  years  old,  came  rushing  forward. 

"*"  Lors,  Miss  Fannie,  so  grad  you  ?s  come  !  Yer  ma  's 
powerful  weak  dis  yer  arternoan  !  "  And  then,  sinking  his 
voice  to  a  whisper,  "Why,  now,  yer 'd  better  b'lcve  her 


OLD    TIFF.  103 

sperits  is  n't  the  best !  Why,  she  's  that  bad,  Miss  Fannie, 
she  actually  been  a  cryin'  when  I  put  the  baby  in  her  arms. 
Eailly,  I  'm  consarned,  and  I  wish  yer  pa  'ud  coine  home. 
Did  yer  bring  de  medicine  ?  " 

"Ah,  yes  ;  here  'tis." 

"  Ah  !  so  good  !  I  was  a  makin'  of  her  some  tea,  to  set 
her  up,  like,  and  I  '11  put  a  little  drop  of  dis  yer  in  't.  You 
gwin,  now,  and  speak  to  yer  ma,  and  I  '11  pick  up  a  little 
light  wood  round  here,  and  make  up  de  fire.  Massa  Ted- 
dy '11  be  powerful  glad  to  see  yer.  Hope  you  's  got  him 
something,  too  !  " 

The  girl  glided  softly  into  the  room,  and  stood  over  the 
bed  where  her  mother  was  lying. 

"  Mother,  I  've  come  home,"  said  she,  gently. 

The  poor,  frail  creature  in  the  bed  seemed  to  be  in  one  of 
those  helpless  hours  of  life's  voyage,  when  all  its  waves 
and  billows  are  breaking  over  the  soul ;  and  while  the  little 
new-comer  was  blindly  rooting  and  striving  at  her  breast, 
she  had  gathered  the  worn  counterpane  over  her  face,  and 
the  bed  was  shaken  by  her  sobbings. 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  mother  !  "  said  the  child,  softly  touch- 
ing her. 

"  Go  away  !  go  away,  child  !  0,  I  wish  I  had  never  been 
born  !  I  wish  you  had  never  been  born,  nor  Teddy,  nor  the 
baby  !  It 's  all  nothing  but  trouble  and  sorrow  !  Fanny, 
don't  you  ever  marry  !     Mind  what  I  tell  you  !  " 

The  child  stood  frightened  by  the  bedside,  while  Tiff  had 
softly  deposited  a  handful  of  pine-wood  near  the  fireplace, 
had  taken  off  the  porringer,  and  was  busily  stirring  and 
concocting  something  in  an  old  cracked  china  mug.  As  he 
stirred,  a  strain  of  indignation  seemed  to  cross  his  generally 
tranquil  mind,  for  he  often  gave  short  sniffs  and  grunts,  in- 
dicative of  extreme  disgust,  and  muttered  to  himself, 

"  Dis  yer  comes  of  quality  marrying  these  yer  poor  white 
folks  !  Never  had  no  'pinion  on  it,  no  way  !  Ah  !  do  hear 
the  poor  lamb  now !  'nough  to  break  one's  heart !  " 

By  this  time,  the  stirring  and  flavoring  being  finished  to 


104  OLD    TIFF. 

his  taste,  he  came  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  began,  in  a 
coaxing  tone, 

"  Come,  now,  Miss  Sue,  come  !  You  's  all  worn  out ! 
No  wonder  !  dat  ar  great  fellow  tugging  at  you !  Bless 
his  dear  little  soul,  he  's  gaining  half  a  pound  a  week ! 
Nough  to  pull  down  his  ma  entirely  !  Come,  now  ;  take  a 
little  sup  of  this — just  a  little  sup!  Warm  you  up,  and 
put  a  bit  of  life  in  you  ;  and  den  I  'spects  to  fry  you  a  mor- 
sel of  der  chicken,  'cause  a  boy  like  dis  yer  can't  be  nursed 
on  slops,  dat  I  knows  !  Dere,  dere,  honey  !  "  said  he,  gently 
removing  the  babe,  and  passing  his  arm  under  the  pillow. 
"  I 's  drefful  strong  in  the  back.  My  arm  is  long  and  strong, 
and  I  '11  raise  you  up  just  as  easy  !  Take  a  good  sup  on  it, 
now,  and  wash  dese  troubles  down.  I  reckon  the  good  man 
above  is  looking  down  on  us  all,  and  bring  us  all  round 
right,  some  time." 

The  invalid,  who  seemed  exhausted  by  the  burst  of  feel- 
ing to  which  she  had  been  giving  way,  mechanically  obeyed 
a  voice  to  which  she  had  always  been  accustomed,  and 
drank  eagerly,  as  if  with  feverish  thirst ;  and  when  she  had 
done,  she  suddenly  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her 
strange  attendant. 

"  0,  Tiff,  Tiff !  poor  old  black,  faithful  Tiff !  What  should 
I  have  done  without  you  ?  So  sick  as  I  've  been,  and  so 
weak,  and  so  lonesome  !  But,  Tiff,  it 's  coming  to  an  end 
pretty  soon.  I  've  seen,  to-night,  that  I  an't  going  to  live 
long,  and  I  've  been  crying  to  think  the  children  have  got 
to  live.  If  I  could  only  take  them  all  into  my  arms,  and  all 
lie  down  in  the  grave  together,  I  should  be  so  glad !  I 
never  knew  what  God  made  me  for  !  I  've  never  been  fit 
for  anything,  nor  done  anything  !  " 

Tiff  seemed  so  utterly  overcome  by  this  appeal,  his  great 
spectacles  were  fairly  washed  clown  in  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
his  broad,  awkward  frame  shook  with  sobs. 

"  Law  bless  you.  Miss  Sue,  don't  be  talking  dat  ar  way  ! 
Why,  if  de  Lord  should  call  you,  Miss  Sue,  I  can  take  care 
of  the  children.     I  can  bring  them  up  powerful,  I  tell  ye  ! 


OLD    TIFF.  105 

But  you  won't  be  a-going  ;  you  '11  get  better  !  It 's  just  the 
sperits  is  low  ;  and,  laws,  why  should  n't  dey  be  ?  " 

Just  at  this  moment  a  loud  barking  was  heard  outside  the 
house,  together  with  the  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  tramp  of 
horses'  feet. 

"  Dar  's  massa,  sure  as  I  'm  alive  !  "  said  he,  hastily  lay- 
ing clown  the  invalid,  and  arranging  her  pillows. 

A  rough  voice  called,  "  Hallo,  Tiff!  here  with  a  light !  " 

Tiff  caught  the  pine-knot,  and  ran  to  open  the  door.  A 
strange-looking  vehicle,  of  a  most  unexampled  composite 
order,  was  standing  before  the  door,  drawn  by  a  lean,  one- 
eyed  horse. 

"  Here,  Tiff,  help  me  out.  I  've  got  a  lot  of  goods  here. 
How  's  Sue  ?  " 

"  Missis  is  powerful  bad  ;  been  wanting  to  see  you  dis 
long  time." 

"Well,  away,  Tiff !  take  this  out,"  indicating  a  long, 
rusty  piece  of  stove-pipe. 

"  Lay  this  in  the  house  ;  and  here  !  "  handing  a  cast-iron 
stove-door,  with  the  latch  broken. 

"  Law,  Massa,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  dis  yer  ?  " 

"Don't  ask  questions,  Tiff;  work  away.  Help  me  out 
with  these  boxes." 

"  What  on  arth  now  ?  "  said  Tiff  to  himself,  as  one  rough 
case  after  another  was  disgorged  from  the  vehicle,  and 
landed  in  the  small  cabin.  This  being  done,  and  orders 
being  given  to  Tiff  to  look  after  the  horse  and  equipage, 
the  man  walked  into  the  house,  with  a  jolly,  slashing  air. 

"  Hallo,  bub  !  "  said  he,  lifting  the  two-year-old  above 
his  head.  "  Hallo,  Fan  !  "  imprinting  a  kiss  on  the  cheek 
of  his  girl.  "Hallo,  Sis  !  "  coming  up  to  the  bed  where 
the  invalid  lay,  and  stooping  down  over  her.  Her  weak, 
wasted  arms  were  thrown  around  his  neck,  and  she  said, 
with  sudden  animation, 

"0,  you  've  come  at  last !  I  thought  I  should  die  with- 
out seeing  you  !  " 

"  0,  you  an't  a-going  to  die,  Sis  !     Why,  what  talk  !  " 


106  OLD    TIFF. 

said  he,  chucking1  her  under  the  chin.  "  Why,  your  cheeks 
are  as  red  as  roses  !  " 

"  Pa,  see  the  baby!"  said  little  Teddy,  who,  having* 
climbed  over  the  bed,  opened  the  flannel  bundle. 

"Ah!  Sis,  I  call  that  ar  a  tolerable  fair  stroke  of  busi- 
ness !  Well,  I  tell  you  what,  I  've  done  up  a  trade  now 
that  will  set  us  up,  and  no  mistake.  Besides  which,  I  've 
got  something  now  in  my  coat-pocket  that  would  raise  a 
dead  cat  to  life,  if  she  was  lying  at  the  bottom  of  a  pond, 
with  a  stone  round  her  neck  !  See  here  !  '  Dr.  Puffer's 
Elixir  of  the  Water  of  Life  !  '  warranted  to  cure  janders, 
tooth-ache,  ear-ache,  scrofula,  speptia,  'sumption,  and  every- 
thing else  that  ever  I  hearn  of !  A  teaspoonful  of  that  ar, 
morn  and  night,  and  in  a  week  you  '11  be  round  agin,  as  pert 
as  a  cricket !  " 

It  was  astonishing  to  see  the  change  which  the  entrance 
of  this  man  had  wrought  on  the  invalid.  All  her  apprehen- 
sions seemed  to  have  vanished.  She  sat  up  on  the  bed,  fol- 
lowing his  every  movement  with  her  eyes,  and  apparently 
placing  full  confidence  in  the  new  medicine,  as  if  it  were  the 
first  time  that  ever  a  universal  remedy  had  been  proposed 
to  her.  It  must  be  noticed,  however,  that  Tiff,  who  had 
returned,  and  was  building  the  fire,  indulged  himself,  now 
and  then,  when  the  back  of  the  speaker  was  turned,  by 
snuffing  at  him  in  a  particularly  contemptuous  manner.  The 
man  was  a  thick-set  and  not  ill-looking  personage,  who 
might  have  been  forty  or  forty-five  years  of  age.  His  eyes, 
of  a  clear,  lively  brown,  his  close-curling  hair,  his  high  fore- 
head, and  a  certain  devil-may-care  frankness  of  expression, 
were  traits  not  disagreeable,  and  which  went  some  way  to 
account  for  the  partial  eagerness  with  which  the  eye  of  the 
wife  followed  him. 

The  history  of  the  pair  is  briefly  told.  He  was  the  son 
of  a  small  farmer  of  North  Carolina.  His  father  having  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  obtain  possession  of  a  few  negroes,  the 
whole  family  became  ever  after  inspired  with  an  intense  dis- 
gust for  all  kinds  of  labor  ;  and  John,  the  oldest  son,  adopted 


OLD    TIFF.  107 

for  himself  the  ancient  and  honorable  profession  of  a  loafer. 
To  lie  idle  in  the  sun  in  front  of  some  small  grog-shop,  to 
attend  horse-races,  cock-fights,  and  gander-pullings,  to  flout 
out  occasionally  in  a  new  waistcoat,  bought  with  money 
which  came  nobody  knew  how,  were  pleasures  to  him  all- 
satisfactory.  He  was  as  guiltless  of  all  knowledge  of  com- 
mon-school learning  as  Governor  Berkley  could  desire,  and 
far  more  clear  of  religious  training  than  a  Mahometan  or  a 
Hindoo. 

In  one  of  his  rambling  excursions  through  the  country, 
he  stopped  a  night  at  a  worn-out  and  broken-down  old  plan- 
tation, where  everything  had  run  down,  through  many  years 
of  mismanagement  and  waste.  There  he  staid  certain  days, 
playing  cards  with  the  equally  hopeful  son  of  the  place,  and 
ended  his  performances  by  running  away  one  night  with  the 
soft-hearted  daughter,  only  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  who 
was  full  as  idle,  careless,  and  untaught,  as  he. 

The  family,  whom  poverty  could  not  teach  to  forget  their 
pride,  were  greatly  scandalized  at  the  marriage  ;  and,  had 
there  been  anything  left  in  the  worn-out  estate  wherewith 
to  portion  her,  the  bride,  nevertheless,  would  have  been 
portionless.  The  sole  piece  of  property  that  went  out  with 
her  from  the  paternal  mansion  was  one,  who,  having  a  mind 
and  will  of  his  own,  could  not  be  kept  from  following  her. 
The  girl's  mother  had  come  from  a  distant  branch  of  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  families  in  Virginia,  and  Tiff  had  been 
her  servant;  and,  with  a  heart  forever  swelling  with  the  re- 
membrances of  the  ancestral  greatness  of  the  Peytons,  he  fol- 
lowed his  young  mistress  in  her  mesalliance  with  long-suf- 
fering devotion.  He  even  bowed  his  neck  so  far  as  to 
acknowledge  for  his  master  a  man  whom  he  considered  by 
position  infinitely  his  inferior  :  for  Tiff,  though  crooked  and 
black,  never  seemed  to  cherish  the  slightest  doubt  lhat 
the  whole  force  of  the  Peyton  blood  coursed  through  his 
veins,  and  that  the  Peyton  honor  was  intrusted  to  his  keep- 
ing. His  mistress  was  a  Peyton,  her  children  were  Peyton 
children,  and  even  the  little  bundle  of  flannel  in  the  gum- 


108  OLD    TIFF. 

tree  cradle  was  a  Peyton  ;  and  as  for  him,  he  was  Tiff  Pey- 
ton, and  this  thought  warmed  and  consoled  him  as  he  fol- 
lowed his  poor  mistress  during  all  the  steps  of  her  down- 
ward course  in  the  world.  On  her  husband  he  looked  with 
patronizing,  civil  contempt.  He  wished  him  well ;  he 
thought  it  proper  to  put  the  best  face  on  all  his  actions  ; 
but,  in  a  confidential  hour,  Tiff  would  sometimes  raise  his 
spectacles  emphatically,  and  give  it  out,  as  his  own  private 
opinion,  "that  dere  could  not  be  much  'spected  from  dat  ar 
'scription  of  people  !  " 

In  fact,  the  roving  and  unsettled  nature  of  JohnCripps's 
avocations  and  locations  might  have  justified  the  old  fellow's 
contempt.  His  industrial  career  might  be  defined  as  com- 
prising a  little  of  everything,  and  a  great  deal  of  nothing. 
He  had  begun,  successively,  to  learn  two  or  three  trades  ; 
had  half  made  a  horse-shoe,  and  spoiled  one  or  two  carpen- 
ter's planes  ;  had  tried  his  hand  at  stage-driving  ;  had  raised 
fighting-cocks,  and  kept  dogs  for  hunting  negroes.  But  he 
invariably  retreated  from  every  one  of  his  avocations,  in  his 
own  opinion  a  much-abused  man.  The  last  device  that  had 
entered  his  head  was  suggested  by  the  success  of  a  shrewd 
Yankee  pedler,  who,  having  a  lot  of  damaged  and  unsalable 
material  to  dispose  of,  talked  him  into  the  belief  that  he 
possessed  yet  an  undeveloped  talent  for  trade  ;  and  poor 
John  Oripps,  guiltless  of  multiplication  or  addition  table, 
and  who  kept  his  cock-fighting  accounts  on  his  fingers  and 
by  making  chalk-marks  behind  the  doors,  actually  was  made 
to  believe  that  he  had  at  last  received  his  true  vocation. 

In  fact,  there  was  something  in  the  constant  restlessness 
of  this  mode  of  life  that  suited  his  roving  turn  ;  and,  though 
he  was  constantly  buying  what  he  could  not  sell,  and  losing 
on  all  that  he  did  sell,  yet  somehow  he  kept  up  an  illu- 
sion that  he  was  doing  something,  because  stray  coins  now 
and  then  passed  through  his  pockets,  and  because  the  circle 
of  small  taverns  in  which  he  could  drink  and  loaf  was  con- 
siderably larger.    There  was  one  resource  which  never  failed 


OLD   TIPP.  109 

him  when  all  other  streams  went  dry  ;  and  that  was  the 
unceasing  ingenuity  and  fidelity  of  the  bondman  Tiff. 

Tiff,  in  fact,  appeared  to  be  one  of  those  comfortable  old 
creatures,  who  retain  such  a  good  understanding  with  all 
created  nature  that  food  never  is  denied  them.  Fish  would 
always  bite  on  Tiff's  hook  when  they  would  n't  on  any- 
body's else  ;  so  that  he  was  wont  confidently  to  call  the 
nearest  stream  "  Tiff's  pork-barrel."  Hens  always  laid 
eggs  for  Tiff,  and  cackled  to  him  confidentially  where  they 
were  deposited.  Turkeys  gobbled  and  strutted  for  him,  and 
led  forth  for  him  broods  of  downy  little  ones.  All  sorts  of 
wild  game,  squirrels,  rabbits,  coons,  and  possums,  appeared 
to  come  with  pleasure  and  put  themselves  into  his  traps  and 
springes  ;  so  that,  where  another  man  might  starve,  Tiff 
would  look  round  him  with  unctuous  satisfaction,  con- 
templating all  nature  as  his  larder,  where  his  provisions  were 
wearing  fur  coats,  and  walking  about  on  four  legs,  only  for 
safe  keeping  till  he  got  ready  to  eat  them.  So  that  Cripps 
never  came  home  without  anticipation  of  something  savory, 
even  although  he  had  drank  up  his  last  quarter  of  a  dollar  at 
the  tavern.  This  suited  Cripps.  He  thought  Tiff  was  doing 
his  duty,  and  occasionally  brought  him  home  some  unsala- 
ble bit  of  rubbish,  by  way  of  testimonial  of  the  sense  he 
entertained  of  his  worth.  The  spectacles  in  which  Tiff 
gloried  came  to  him  in  this  manner ;  and,  although  it  might 
have  been  made  to  appear  that  the  glasses  were  only  plain 
window-glass,  Tiff  was  happily  ignorant  that  they  were  not 
the  best  of  convex  lenses,  and  still  happier  in  the  fact  that 
his  strong,  unimpaired  eyesight  made  any  glasses  at  all  en- 
tirely unnecessary.  It  was  only  an  aristocratic  weakness  in 
Tiff.  Spectacles  he  somehow  co-usidered  the  mark  of  a 
gentleman,  and  an  appropriate  symbol  for  one  who  had 
"been  fetched  up  in  the  very  fustest  families  of  Old  Vir- 
gin ny." 

He  deemed  them  more  particularly  appropriate,  as,  in  ad- 
dition to  his  manifold  outward  duties,  he  likewise  assumed, 
as  the  reader  has  seen,  some  feminine  accomplishments. 
10 


110  OLD    TIFF. 

Tiff  could  darn  a  stocking  with  anybody  in  the  country  ;  he 
could  cut  out  children's  dresses  and  aprons  ;  he  could  patch, 
and  he  could  seam  ;  all  which  he  did  with  infinite  self-satis- 
faction. 

Notwithstanding  the  many  crooks  and  crosses  in  his  lot, 
Tiff  was,  on  the  whole,  a  cheery  fellow.  He  had  an  oily, 
rollicking  fulness  of  nature,  an  exuberance  of  physical 
satisfaction  in  existence,  that  the  greatest  weight  of  adver- 
sity could  only  tone  down  to  becoming  sobriety.  He  was 
on  the  happiest  terms  of  fellowship  with  himself ;  he  liked 
himself,  he  believed  in  himself;  and,  when  nobody  else 
would  do  it,  he  would  pat  himself  on  his  own  shoulder,  and 
say,  "  Tiff,  you  're  a  jolly  dog,  a  fine  fellow,  and  I  like  you  !  " 
He  was  seldom  without  a  running  strain  of  soliloquy  with 
himself,  intermingled  with  joyous  bursts  of  song,  and  quiet 
intervals  of  laughter.  On  pleasant  days  Tiff  laughed  a  great 
deal.  He  laughed  when  his  beans  came  up,  he  laughed  when 
the  sun  came  out  after  a  storm,  he  laughed  for  fifty  things 
that  you  never  think  of  laughing  at ;  and  it  agreed  with  him 
—  he  throve  upon  it.  In  times  of  trouble  and  perplexity, 
Tiff  talked  to  himself,  and  found  a  counsellor  who  always 
kept  secrets.  On  the  present  occasion  it  was  not  without 
some  inward  discontent  that  he  took  a  survey  of  the  re- 
mains of  one  of  his  best-fatted  chickens,  which  he  had  been 
intending  to  serve  up,  piecemeal,  for  his  mistress.  So  he 
relieved  his  mind  by  a  little  confidential  colloquy  with  him 
self. 

"  Dis  yer,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  contemptuous  in- 
clination towards  the  newly-arrived,  "will  be  for  eating  like 
a  judgment,  I  'pose.  Wish,  now,  I  had  killed  de  old  gob- 
bler !  Good  enough  for  him  —  raal  tough,  he  is.  Dis  yer, 
now,  was  my  primest  chicken,  and  dar  she  '11  jist  sit  and  see 
him  eat  it !  Laws,  dese  yer  women  !  Why,  dey  does  get 
so  sot  on  husbands  !  Pity  they  could  n't  have  something 
like  to  be  sot  on  !  It  jist  riles  me  to  see  him  gobbling 
down  everything,  and  she  a-looking  on  !  Well,  here  goes," 
said  he,  depositing  the  frying-pan  over  the  coals,  in  which 


OLD    TIFF.  Ill 

the  chicken  was  soon  fizzling.  Drawing-  out  the  table,  Tiff 
prepared  it  for  supper.  Soon  coffee  was  steaming-  over  the 
fire,  and  corn-dodgers  baking  in  the  ashes.  Meanwhile, 
John  Cripps  was  busy  explaining  to  his  wife  the  celebrated 
wares  that  had  so  much  raised  his  spirits. 

"  Well,  now,  you  see,  Sue,  this  yer  time  I've  been  up  to 
Raleigh  ;  and  I  met  a  fellow  there,  coming  from  New  York, 
or  New  Orleans,  or  some  of  them  northern  states. 

"  New  Orleans  is  n't  a  northern  state,"  humbly  interposed 
his  wife,  "is  it  ?  " 

"Well,  New  something!  Who  the  devil  cares?  Don't 
you  be  interrupting  me,  you  Suse  !  " 

Could  Cripps  have  seen  the  vengeful  look  which  Tiff 
gave  him  over  the  spectacles  at  this  moment,  he  might 
have  trembled  for  his  supper.  But,  innocent  of  this,  he 
proceeded  with  his  story. 

"  You  see,  this  yer  fellow  had  a  case  of  bonnets  just  the 
height  of  the  fashion.  They  come  from  Paris,  the  capital 
of  Europe  ;  and  he  sold  them  to  me  for  a  mere  song.  Ah, 
you  ought  to  see  'em  !  I  'm  going  to  get  'em  out.  Tiff, 
hold  the  candle,  here."  And  Tift'  held  the  burning  torch 
with  an  air  of  grim  scepticism  and  disgust,  while  Cripps 
hammered  and  wrenched  the  top  boards  off,  and  displayed 
to  view  a  portentous  array  of  bonnets,  apparently  of  every 
obsolete  style  and  fashion  of  the  last  fifty  years. 

"Dem's  fust  rate  for  scare-crows,  anyhow!"  muttered 
Tiff. 

"  Now,  what,"  said  Cripps, —  "  Sue,  what  do  vou  think  I 
gave  for  these  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  faintly. 

"Well,  I  gave  fifteen  dollars  for  the  whole  box!  And 
there  an't  one  of  these,"  said  he,  displaying  the  most  singu- 
lar specimen  on  his  hand,  "  that  is  n't  worth  from  two  to  five 
dollars.     I  shall  clear,  at  least,  fifty  dollars  on  that  box." 

Tiff,  at  this  moment,  turned  to  his  frying-pan,  and  bent 
over  it,  soliloquizing  as  he  did  so. 

"Any  way,  I 's  found  out  one  ting  —  where  de  women 


112  OLD    TIFF. 

gets  dem  roosts  of  bonnets  dey  wars  at  camp-meetings. 
Laws,  dey  's  enough  to  spile  a  work  of  grace,  dem  ar  !  If  I 
was  to  meet  one  of  dem  ar  of  a  dark  night  in  a  grave-yard, 
I  should  tink  I  was  sent  for  —  not  the  pleasantest  way  of 
sending,  neither.  Poor  missis  !  — looking  mighty  faint!  — 
Don't  wonder!  —  'Nough  to  scarr  a  weakly  woman  into 
fits  !  " 

"  Here,  Tiff,  help  me  to  open  this  box.  Hold  the  light, 
here.  Durned  if  it  don't  come  off  hard  !  Here  's  a  lot  of 
shoes  and  boots  I  got  of  the  same  man.  Some  on  'em  ;s 
mates,  and  some  an't ;  but,  then,  I  took  the  lot  cheap. 
Folks  don't  always  warr  both  shoes  alike.  Might  like  to 
warr  an  odd  one,  sometimes,  ef  it  ;s  cheap.  Now,  this  yer 
parr  of  boots  is  lady's  gaiters,  all  complete,  'cept  there  's  a 
hole  in  the  lining  down  by  the  toe  ;  body  ought  to  be  care- 
ful about  putting  it  on,  else  the  foot  will  slip  between  the 
outside  and  the  lining.  Anybody  that  bears  that  in  mind 
— just  as  nice  a  pair  of  gaiters  as  they  'd  want !  Bargain, 
there,  for  somebody — complete  one,  too.  Then  I 've  got 
two  or  three  old  bureau-drawers  that  I  got  cheap  at  auc- 
tion ;  and  I  reckon  some  on  'em  will  fit  the  old  frame  that 
I  got  last  year.     Got  'em  for  a  mere  song." 

"  Bless  you,  massa,  dat  ar  old  bureau  I  took  for  de  chick- 
en-coop !     Turkeys'  chickens  hops  in  lively." 

"  0,  well,  scrub  it  up — 'twill  answer  just  as  well.  Fit 
the  drawers  in.  And  now,  old  woman,  we  will  sit  down 
to  supper,"  said  he,  planting  himself  at  the  table,  and  be- 
ginning a  vigorous  onslaught  on  the  fried  chicken,  without 
invitation  to  any  other  person  present  to  assist  him. 

"Missis  can't  sit  up  at  the  table,"  said  Tiff.  "She's 
done  been  sick  ever  since  de  baby  was  born."  And  Tiff 
approached  the  bed  with  a  nice  morsel  of  chicken  which  he 
had  providently  preserved  on  a  plate,  and  which  he  now 
reverently  presented  on  a  board,  as  a  waiter,  covered  with 
newspaper. 

"  Now,   do  eat,  missis ;  you  can't  live   on  looking,  no 


OLD    TIFF.  113 

ways  you  can  fix  it.  Do  eat,  while  Tiff  gets  on  de  baby's 
night-gown." 

To  please  her  old  friend,  the  woman  made  a  feint  of  eat- 
ing, but,  while  Tiff's  back  was  turned  to  the  fire,  busied 
herself  with  distributing  it  to  the  children,  who  had  stood 
hungrily  regarding  her,  as  children  will  regard  what  is  put 
on  to  a  sick  mother's  plate. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  see  them  eat,"  she  said,  apologeti- 
cally once,  when  Tiff,  turning  round,  detected  her  in  the 
act. 

"  Ah,  missis,  may  be  !  but  you  've  got  to  eat  for  two,  now. 
What  dey  eat  an't  going  to  dis  yer  little  man,  here.  Mind 
dat  ar." 

Cripps  apparently  bestowed  very  small  attention  on  any- 
thing except  the  important  business  before  him,  which  he 
prosecuted  with  such  devotion  that  very  soon  coffee, 
chicken,  and  dodgers,  had  all  disappeared.  Even  the  bones 
were  sucked  dry,  and  the  gravy  wiped  from  the  dish. 

"Ah,  that's  what  I  call  comfortable!"  said  he,  lying 
back  in  his  chair.  "Tiff,  pull  my  boots  off!  and  hand  out 
that  ar  demijohn.  Sue,  I  hope  you  've  made  a  comfortable 
meal,"  he  said,  incidentally,  standing  with  his  back  to  her, 
compounding  his  potation  of  whiskey  and  water  ;  which 
having  drank,  he  called  up  Teddy,  and  offered  him  the  sugar 
at  the  bottom  of  the  glass.  But  Teddy,  being  forewarned 
by  a  meaning  glance  through  Tiff's  spectacles,  responded, 
very  politely, 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  pa.     I  don't  love  it." 

"  Come  here,  then,  and  take  it  off  like  a  man.  It 's  good 
for  you,"  said  John  Cripps. 

The  mother's  eyes  followed  the  child  wishfully  ;  and  she 
said,  faintly,  "Don't,  John! — don't!"  And  Tiff  ended 
the  controversy  by  taking  the  glass  unceremoniously  out 
of  his  master's  hand. 

"  Laws  bless  you,  massa,  can't  be  bodered  with  dese 
yer  young  ones  dis  yer  time  of  night !  Time  dey  's  all  in 
bed,  and  dishes  washed  up.  Here.  Tedd,"  seizing  the 
10* 


114  OLD    TIFF. 

child,  and  loosening  the  buttons  of  his  slip  behind,  and 
drawing-  out  a  rough  trundle-bed,  "  you  crawl  in  dere,  and 
curl  up  in  your  nest ;  and  don't  you  forget  your  prars, 
honey,  else  maybe  you  '11  never  wake  up  again." 

Cripps  had  now  filled  a  pipe  with  tobacco  of  the  most  vil- 
lainous character,  with  which  incense  he  was  perfuming  the 
little  apartment. 

"  Laws,  massa,  dat  ar  smoke  an't  good  for  missis/'  said 
Tiff.     "  She  done  been  sick  to  her  stomach  all  day." 

"  0,  let  him  smoke!  I  like  to  have  him  enjoy  himself," 
said  the  indulgent  wife.  "  But,  Fanny,  you  had  better  go 
to  bed,  dear.  Come  here  and  kiss  me,  child ;  good-night, 
—  good-night  !  " 

The  mother  held  on  to  her  long,  and  looked  at  her  wish- 
fully ;  and  when  she  had  turned  to  go,  she  drew  her  back, 
and  kissed  her  again,  and  said,  "  Good-night,  clear  child, 
good-night !  " 

Fanny  climbed  up  a  ladder  in  one  corner  of  the  room, 
through  a  square  hole,  to  the  loft  above. 

"  I  say,"  said  Cripps,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  looking  at  Tiff,  who  was  busy  washing  the  dishes,  "I 
say  it 's  kind  of  peculiar  that  gal  keeps  sick  so.  Seemed 
to  have  good  constitution  when  I  married  her.  I  'm  think- 
ing," said  he,  without  noticing  the  gathering  wrath  in 
Tiff's  face,  "I  'm  a  thinking  whether  steamin'  wouldn't  do 
her  good.  Now,  I  got  a  most  dreadful  cold  when  I  was  up 
at  Raleigh  —  thought  I  should  have  given  up;  and  there 
was  a  steam-doctor  there.  Had  a  little  kind  of  machine, 
with  kettle  and  pipes,  and  he  put  me  in  a  bed,  put  in  the 
pipes,  and  set  it  a-going.  I  thought,  my  soul,  I  should  have 
been  floated  off;  but  it  carried  off  the  cold,  complete.  I  'm 
thinking  if  something  of  that  kind  would  n't  be  good  for 
Miss  Cripps." 

"  Laws,  massa,  don't  go  for  to  trying  it  on  her  !  She  is 
never  no  better  for  dese  yer  things  you  do  for  her." 

"Now,"  said  Cripps,  not  appearing  to  notice  the  inter- 


OLD    TIFF.  115 

ruption,  "these  yer  stove-pipes,  and  the  tea-kettle, — I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  we  could  get  up  a  steam  with  them !  " 

"  It 's  my  private  'pinion,  if  you  do,  she  '11  be  sailing  out 
of  the  world,"  said  Tiff.  "What's  one  man's  meat  is 
another  one's  pisin,  my  old  mis's  used  to  say.  Very  best 
thing  you  can  do  for  her  is  to  let  her  alone.  Dat  ar  is  my 
'pinion." 

"  John,"  said  the  little  woman,  after  a  few  minutes,  "  I 
wish  you  'd  come  here,  and  sit  on  the  bed." 

There  was  something  positive,  and  almost  authoritative,  in 
the  manner  in  which  this  was  said,  which  struck  John  as  so 
unusual,  that  he  came  with  a  bewildered  air,  sat  down,  and 
gazed  at  her  with  his  mouth  wide  open. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  come  home,  because  I  have  had 
things  that  I  've  wanted  to  say  to  you  !  I  've  been  lying 
here  thinking  about  it,  and  I  have  been  turning  it  over  in 
my  mind.     I  'm  going  to  die  soon,  I  know." 

"  Ah  !  bah  !  Don't  be  bothering  a  fellow  with  any  of 
your  hysterics  !  " 

"John,  John!  it  isn't  hysterics!  Look  at  me!  Look 
at  my  hand !  look  at  my  face  !  I'm  so  weak,  and  some- 
times I  have  such  coughing  spells,  and  every  time  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  I  should  die.  But  it  an't  to  trouble  you  that  j. 
talk.  I  don't  care  about  myself,  but  I  don't  want  the  chil- 
dren to  grow  up  and  be  like  what  we  've  been.  You  have  a 
great  many  contrivances  ;  do,  pray,  contrive  to  have  them 
taught  to  read,  and  make  something  of  them  in  the  world." 

"Bah!  what's  the  use?  I  never  learnt  to  read,  and 
I  'in  as  good  a  fellow  as  I  want.  Why,  there  's  plenty  of 
men  round  here  making  their  money,  every  year,  that  can't 
read  or  write  a  word.  Old  Hubell,  there,  up  on  the  Shad 
plantation,  has  hauled  in  money,  hand  over  hand,  and  he 
always  signs  his  mark.  Got  nine  sons — can't  a  soul  of 
them  read  or  write,  more  than  I.  I  tell  you  there  's  nothing 
ever  comes  of  this  yer  laming.  It's  all  a  sell  —  a  regular 
Yankee  hoax !  I  've  always  got  cheated  by  them  damn 
reading,  writing  Yankees,  whenever  I  've  traded  with  'em. 


116  OLD    TIFF, 

What 's  the  good,  I  want  to  know  !  You  was  teached  how 
to  read  when  you  was  young  —  much  good  it 's  ever  done 
you  !  " 

"  Sure  enough  !  Sick  day  and  night,  moving  about 
from  place  to  place,  sick  baby  crying,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  do  for  it  no  more  than  a  child  !  O,  I  hope  Fanny 
will  learn  something  !  It  seems  to  me,  if  there  was  some 
school  for  my  children  to  go  to,  or  some  church,  or  some- 
thing —  now,  if  there  is  any  such  place  as  heaven,  I  should 
like  to  have  them  get  to  it." 

"  Ah  !  bah  !  Don't  bother  about  that  !  When  we  get 
keeled  up,  that  will  be  the  last  of  us  !  Gome,  come,  don't 
plague  a  fellow  any  more  with  such  talk  !  I  ;m  tired,  and 
I'm  going  to  sleep."  And  the  man,  divesting  himself  of 
his  overcoat,  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and  was  soon  snor- 
ing heavily  in  profound  slumber. 

Tiff,  who  had  been  trotting  the  baby  by  the  fire,  now 
came  softly  to  the  bedside,  and  sat  down, 

"  Miss  Sue,"  he  said,  "  it 's  no  'count  talking  to  him  !  I 
don't  mean  nothing  clis'pectful,  Miss  Sue,  but  de  fac  is, 
dem  dat  is  n't  horn  gentlemen  can't  be  'spected  fur  to  see 
through  clese  yer  things  like  us  of  de  old  families.  Law, 
missis,  don't  you  worry  !  Now,  jest  leave  dis  yer  matter  to 
r'xd  Tiff!  Dere  never  wasn't  anything  Tiff  couldn't  do,  if 
he  tried.  He  !  he  !  he  !  Miss  Fanny,  she  done  got  de  let- 
ters right  smart ;  and  I  know  I  '11  come  it  round  mas'r,  and 
make  him  buy  cle  books  for  her.  I  '11  tell  you  what 's  come 
into  my  head,  to-day.  There  's  a  young  lady  come  to  de 
big  plantation,  up  dere,  who  's  been  to  New  York  getting 
edicated,  and  I  's  going  for  to  ask  her  about  dese  yer 
things.  And,  about  de  chil'en's  going  to  church,  and  clese 
yer  things,  why,  preaching,  you  know,  is  mazin'  unsartain 
round  here  ;  but  I  '11  keep  on  de  look-out,  and  do  de  best 
I  can.  Why,  Lord,  Miss  Sue,  I 's  bound  for  the  land  of 
Canaan,  myself,  the  best  way  I  ken  ;  and  I  'm  sartain  I 
shan't  go  without  taking  the  chil'en  along  with  me.  Ho  ! 
ho  I  ho  !     Dat 's  what  I  shan't !     De  chil'en  will  have  to  be 


OLD    TIFF.  117 

with  Tiff,  and  Tiff  will  have  to  be  with  the  chil'en,  where- 
ever  dey  is  !     Dat  's  it !     He  !  he  !  he  !  " 

"  Tiff,"  said  the  young  woman,  her  large  blue  eyes  look- 
ing at  him,  "I  have  heard  of  the  Bible.  Have  you  ever 
seen  one,  Tiff? " 

"  0,  yes,  honey,  dar  was  a  big  Bible  that  your  ma  brought 
in  the  family  when  she  married  ;  but  dat  ar  was  tore  up  to 
make  wadding  for  de  guns,  one  thing  or  anothei,  and  dey 
never  got  no  more.  But  I 's  been  very  'serving,  and  kept 
my  ears  open  in  a  camp-meeting,  and  such  places,  and  I  ;s 
learnt  right  smart  of  de  things  that  \s  in  it." 

"  Now,  Tiff,  can  you  say  anything  ?  "  said  she,  fixing  her 
large,  troubled  eyes  on  him. 

"  Well,  honey,  dere  's  one  thing  the  man  said  at  de  last 
camp-meeting.  He  preached  'bout  it,  and  I  couldn't  make 
out  a  word  he  said,  'cause  I  an't  smart  about  preaching  like 
I  be  about  most  things.  But  he  said  dis  yer  so  often  that 
I  could  n't  help  'member  it.  Says  he,  it  was  dish  yer  way  : 
'  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest.'  " 

"Rest,  rest,  rest!"  said  the  woman,  thoughtfully,  and 
drawing  a  long  sigh.  "0,  how  much  I  want  it!  Did  he 
say  that  was  in  the  Bible  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  said  so;  and  I  spects,  by  all  he  said,  it's  de 
good  man  above  dat  says  it.  It  always  makes  me  feel  bet- 
ter to  think  on  it.  It  'peared  like  it  was  jist  what  I  was 
wanting  to  hear." 

"And  I,  too!  "  she  said,  turning  her  head  wearily,  and 
closing  her  eyes.  "Tiff,"  she  said,  opening  them,  "where 
I  'm  going,  may  be  I  shall  meet  the  one  who  said  that,  and 
I  '11  ask  him  about  it.  Don't  talk  to  me  more,  now.  I  'in 
getting  sleepy.  I  thought  I  was  better  a  little  while  after 
he  came  home,  but  I  ;m  more  tired  yet.  Put  the  baby  in 
my  arms  —  I  like  the  feeling  of  it.  There,  there  ;  now  give 
me  rest — please  do  I  "  and  she  sank  into  a  deep  and  quiet 
slumber. 

Tiff  softly  covered  the  fire,  and  sat  down  by  the  bed, 


118  OLD    TIFF. 

■watching  the  flickering  shadows  as  they  danced  upward  on 
the  wall,  listening  to  the  heavy  sighs  of  the  pine-trees,  and 
the  hard  breathing  of  the  sleeping  man.  Sometimes  he 
nodded  sleepily,  and  then,  recovering,  rose,  and  took  a  turn 
to  awaken  himself.  A  shadowy  sense  of  fear  fell  upon  him  ; 
not  that  he  apprehended  anything,  for  he  regarded  the 
words  of  his  mistress  only  as  the  forebodings  of  a  wearied 
invalid.  The  idea  that  she  could  actually  die,  and  go  any- 
where, without  him  to  take  care  of  her,  seemed  never  to 
have  occurred  to  him.  About  midnight,  as  if  a  spirit  had 
laid  its  hand  upon  him,  his  eyes  flew  wide  open  with  a  sud- 
den start.  Her  thin,  cold  hand  was  lying  on  his  ;  her  eyes, 
large  and  blue,  shone  with  a  singular  and  spiritual  radiance. 
"Tiff,"  she  gasped,  speaking  with  difficulty,  "I've  seen 
the  one  that  said  that,  and  it 's  all  true,  too  !  and  I  We  seen 
all  why  I've  suffered  so  much.  He  —  He — He  is  going 
to  take  me  !  Tell  the  children  about  Him  !  "  There  was  a 
fluttering  sigh,  a  slight  shiver,  and  the  lids  fell  over  the 
eyes  forever. 


CHAPTER    IX 


THE    DEATH. 


Death  is  always  sudden.  However  gradual  may  be  its 
approaches,  it  is,  in  its  effects  upon  the  survivor,  always 
sudden  at  last.  Tiff  thought,  at  first,  that  his  mistress  was 
in  a  fainting-fit,  and  tried  every  means  to  restore  her.  It 
was  affecting  to  see  him  chafing  the  thin,  white,  pearly 
hands,  in  his  large,  rough,  black  paws  ;  raising  the  head 
upon  his  arm,  and  calling  in  a  thousand  tones  of  fond  en- 
dearment, pouring  out  a  perfect  torrent  of  loving  devotion 
on  the  cold,  unheeding  ear.  But,  then,  spite  of  all  he 
could  do,  the  face  settled  itself,  and  the  hands  would  not  be 
warmed ;  the  thought  of  death  struck  him  suddenly,  and, 
throwing  himself  on  the  floor  by  the  bed,  he  wept  with  an 
exceeding  loud  and  bitter  cry.  Something  in  his  heart 
revolted  against  awakening  that  man  who  lay  heavily 
breathing  by  her  side.  He  would  not  admit  to  himself,  at 
this  moment,  that  this  man  had  any  right  in  her,  or  that  the 
sorrow  was  any  part  of  his  sorrow.  But  the  cry  awoke 
Cripps,  who  sat  up  bewildered  in  bed,  clearing  the  hair  from 
his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  Tiff,  what  the  durned  are  you  howling  about  ?  " 

Tiff  got  up  in  a  moment,  and,  swallowing  down  his  grief 
and  his  tears,  pointed  indignantly  to  the  still  figure  on  the 
bed. 

"Dar!  dar !  Wouldn't  b'lieve  her  last  night!  Now 
what  you  think  of  dat  ar  ?  See  how  you  look  now  !  Good 
Shepherd  hearn  you  abusing  de  poor  lamb,  and  he  's  done 
took  her  whar  you  '11  never  see  her  again  !  " 


120  THE   DEATH. 

Cripps  had,  like  coarse,  animal  men  generally,  a  stupid 
and  senseless  horror  of  death ;  —  he  recoiled  from  the  life- 
less form,  and  sprang  from  the  bed  with  an  expression  of 
horror. 

"Well,  now,  who  would  have  thought  it?"  he  said. 
"  That  I  should  be  in  bed  with  a  corpse  !  I  had  n't  the  least 
idea ! " 

"No,  dat 's  plain  enough,  you  didn't!  You'll  believe 
it  now,  won't  you  ?  Poor  little  lamb,  lying  here  suffering 
all  alone  !  I  tell  you,  when  folks  have  been  sick  so  long, 
dey  has  to  die  to  make  folks  believe  anything  ails  'em  !  " 

"Well,  really,"  said  Cripps,  "this  is  really  —  why,  it 
an't  comfortable  !  darned  if  it  is  !  Why,  I  'in  sorry  about 
the  gal !  I  meant  to  steam  her  up,  or  done  something  with 
her.     What 's  we  to  do  now  ?  " 

"Pretty  likely  you  don't  know!  Folks  like  you,  dat 
never  tends  to  nothing  good,  is  always  flustered  when  de 
Master  knocks  at  de  do'  !  I  knows  what  to  do,  though. 
I 's  boun'  to  get  up  de  crittur,  and  go  up  to  de  old  planta- 
tion, and  bring  clown  a  woman  and  do  something  for  her, 
kind  of  decent.     You  mind  the  chil'en  till  I  come  back." 

Tiff  took  down  and  drew  on  over  his  outer  garment  a 
coarse,  light,  woollen  coat,  with  very  long  skirts  and  large 
buttons,  in  which  he  always  arrayed  himself  in  cases  of 
special  solemnity.  Stopping  at  the  door  before  he  went 
out,  he  looked  over  Cripps  from  head  to  foot,  with  an  air  of 
patronizing  and  half-pitiful  contempt,  and  delivered  himself 
as  follows  : 

"Now,  mas'r,  I 's  gwine  up,  and  will  be  back  quick  as 
possible  ;  and  now  do  pray  be  decent,  and  let  dat  ar  whis- 
key alone  for  one  day  in  your  life,  and  'member  death,  judg- 
ment, and  'ternity.  Just  act,  now,  as  if  you  'd  got  a  streak 
of  something  in  you,  such  as  a  man  ought  for  to  have  who 
is  married  to  one  of  cle  very  fastest  families  in  old  Virgin- 
ny.  'Fleet,  now,  on  your  latter  end  ;  may  be  will  do  your 
poor  old  soul  some  good  ;   and  don't  you  go  for  to  waking  up 


THE    DEATH.  121 

the  chil'en  before  I  gets  back.  They  '11  learn  de  trouble 
soon  enough." 

Cripps  listened  to  this  oration  with  a  stupid,  bewildered 
stare,  gazing  first  at  the  bed,  and  then  at  the  old  man,  who 
was  soon  making  all  the  speed  he  could  towards  Canema. 

Nina  was  not  habitually  an  early  riser,  but  on  this  morn- 
ing she  had  awaked  with  the  first  peep  of  dawn,  and,  finding 
herself  unable  to  go  to  sleep  again,  she  had  dressed  herself, 
and  gone  clown  to  the  garden. 

She  was  walking  up  and  down  in  one  of  the  alleys,  think- 
ing over  the  perplexities  of  her  own  affairs,  when  her  ear 
was  caught  by  the  wild  and  singular  notes  of  one  of  those 
tunes  commonly  used  among  the  slaves  as  dirges.  The 
words  "  She  ar  dead  and  gone  to  heaven  "  seemed  to  come 
floating  down  upon  her  ;  and,  though  the  voice  was  cracked 
and  strained,  there  was  a  sort  of  wildness  and  pathos  in  it, 
which  made  a  singular  impression  in  the  perfect  stillness  of 
everything  around  her.  She  soon  observed  a  singular-look- 
ing vehicle  appearing  in  the  avenue. 

This  wagon,  which  was  no  other  than  the  establishment 
of  Cripps,  drew  Nina's  attention,  and  she  went  to  the  hedge 
to  look  at  it.  Tiff's  watchful  eye  immediately  fell  upon  her, 
and,  driving  up  to  where  she  was  standing,  he  climbed  out 
upon  the  ground,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  made  her  a  profound 
obeisance,  and  "hoped  de  young  lady  was  bery  well,  dis 
morning." 

"  Yes,  quite  well,  thank  you,  Uncle,"  said  Nina,  regard- 
ing him  curiously. 

"We's  in  'fliction  to  our  house!"  said  Tiff,  solemnly. 
"  Dere  's  been  a  midnight  cry  dere,  and  poor  Miss  Sue 
(dat  's  my  young  missis),  she  's  done  gone  home." 

"  Who  is  your  mistress  ?  " 

"Well,  her  name  was  Seymour  'fore  she  married,  and  her 
ma  come  from  de  Virginny  Peytons,  —  great  family,  dem 
Peytons  !  She  was  so  misfortunate  as  to  get  married,  as 
gals  will,  sometimes,"  said  Tiff,  speaking  in  a  confidential 
tone.  "  The  man  wan't  no  'count,  and  she  's  had  a  drefful 
11 


122  THE   DEATH. 

hard  way  to  travel,  poor  thing  !  and  dere  she  's  a  lying  at 
last  stretched  out  dead,  and  not  a  woman  nor  nobody  to  do 
de  least  thing  ;  and  please,  missis,  Tin  corned  for  to  see  if 
de  young  lady  would  n't  send  a  woman  for  to  do  for  her  — 
getting  her  ready  for  a  funeral." 

"  And  who  are  you,  pray  ?  " 

"Please,  missis,  I 's  Tiff  Peyton,  lis.  I 's  raised  in  Vir- 
ginny,  on  de  great  Peyton  place,  and  I 's  gin  to  Miss  Sue's 
mother  ;  and  when  Miss  Sue  married  dis  yer  man,  dey  was 
all  'fended,  and  would  n'  t  speak  to  her  ;  but  I  tuck  up  for 
her,  'cause  what 's  de  use  of  matin'  a  bad  thing  worse  ? 
I'sa  'pinion,  and  telled  'em,  dat  he  oughter  be  'couraged 
to  behave  hisself,  seem'  the  thing  was  done,  and  could  n't 
be  helped.  But  no,  dey  would  n't ;  so  I  jest  tells  'em,  says 
I,  'You  may  do  jis  you  please,  but  old  Tiff's  a  gwine  with 
her,'  says  I.  '  I  '11  follow  Miss  Sue  to  de  grave's  mouth,' 
says  I  ;  and  ye  see  I  has  done  it." 

"  Well  done  of  you  !  I  like  you  better  for  it,"  said  Nina. 
"You  just  drive  up  to  the  kitchen,  there,  and  tell  Eose  to 
give  you  some  breakfast-,  while  I  go  up  to  Aunt  Nesbit." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Miss  Nina,  I  's  noways  hungry.  'Pears 
like,  when  a  body  's  like  as  I  be,  swallerin'  down,  and  all  de 
old  times  risin'  in  der  throat  all  de  time,  dey  can't  eat ;  dey 
gets  filled  all  up  to  der  eyes  with  feelin's.  Lord,  Miss  Nina, 
I  hope  ye  won't  never  know  what  't  is  to  stand  outside  de 
gate,  when  de  best  friend  you  've  got 's  gone  in  ;  it 's  hard, 
dat  ar  is  !  "  And  Tiff  pulled  out  a  decayed-looking  handker- 
chief, and  applied  it  under  his  spectacles. 

"  Well,  wait  a  minute,  Tiff."  And  Nina  ran  into  the  house, 
while  Tiff  gazed  mournfully  after  her. 

"Well,  Lor  ;  just  de  way  Miss  Sue  used  to  run  —  trip, 
trip,  trip  !  — little  feet  like  mice  !     Lord's  will  be  done  !  " 

"0,  Milly ! "  said  Nina,  meeting  Milly  in  the  entry, 
"  here  you  are.  Here  's  a  poor  fellow  waiting  out  by  the 
hedge,  his  mistress  dead  all  alone  in  the  house,  with  children 
—  no  woman  to  do  for  them.     Can't  you  go  down  ?  you 


THE    DEATH.  123 

could  do  so  "well !  You  know  how  better  than  any  one  else 
in  the  house." 

"  Why,  that  must  be  poor  old  Tiff!  "  said  Milly  ;  "  faith- 
ful old  creature  !  So  that  poor  woman  's  gone,  at  last  ?  the 
better  for  her,  poor  soul  I  Well,  I  ;11  ask  Miss  Loo  if  I  may 
go  —  or  you  ask  her,  Miss  Nina." 

A  quick,  imperative  tap  on  her  door  startled  Aunt  Nes- 
bit,  who  was  standing  at  her  toilet,  finishing  her  morning's 
dressing  operations. 

Mrs.  Nesbit  was  a  particularly  systematic,  early  riser. 
Nobody  knew  why  ;  only  folks  who  have  nothing  to  do  are 
often  the  most  particular  to  have  the  longest  possible  time 
to  do  it  in. 

"Aunt,"  said  Nina,  "there's  a  poor  fellow,  out  here, 
whose  mistress  is  just  dead,  all  alone  in  the  house,  and  wants 
to  get  some  woman  to  go  there  to  help.  Can't  you  spare 
Milly  ? " 

"  Milly  was  going  to  clear-starch  my  caps,  this  morning," 
said  Aunt  Nesbit.  "  I  have  arranged  everything  with  refer- 
ence to.it,  for  a  week  past." 

"  Well,  aunt,  can't  she  do  it  to-morrow,  or  next  day,  just 
as  well  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  she  is  going  to  rip  up  that  black  dress,  and 
wash  it.  I  am  always  systematic,  and  have  everything  ar- 
ranged beforehand.  Should  like  very  much  to  do  anything 
I  could,  if  it  was  n't  for  that.  Why  can't  you  send  Aunt 
Katy  ?  " 

"  Why,  aunt,  you  know  we  are  to  have  company  to  din- 
ner, and  Aunt  Katy  is  the  only  one  who  knows  where  any- 
thing is,  or  how  to  serve  things  out  to  the  cook.  Besides, 
she  's  so  hard  and  cross  to  poor  people,  I  don't  think  she 
would  go.  I  don't  see,  I  'm  sure,  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
why  you  could  n't  put  your  starching  off.  Milly  is  such  a 
kind,  motherly,  experienced  person,  and  they  are  in  afflic- 
tion." 

"  0,  these  low  families  don't  mind  such  things  much," 
said  Aunt  Nesbit,  fitting  on  her  cap,  quietly  ;  "  they  never 


124  THE    DEATH. 

have  much  feeling.  There  's  no  use  doing  for  them  —  they 
are  miserable  poor  creatures." 

"  Aunt  Nesbit,  do,  now,  as  a  favor  to  me  !  I  don't  often 
ask  favors,"  said  Nina.  "Do  let  Milly  go  !  she  's  just  the 
one  wanted.  Do,  now,  say  yes  !  "  And  Nina  pressed  nearer, 
and  actually  seemed  to  overpower  her  slow-feeling,  torpid 
relative,  with  the  vehemence  that  sparkled  in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  if—  " 

"There,  Milly,  she  says  yes !"  said  she,  springing  out 
the  door.  "She  says  you  may.  Now,  hurry  ;  get  things 
ready.  I  '11  run  and  have  Aunt  Katy  put  up  biscuits  and 
things  for  the  children  ;  and  you  get  all  that  you  know  you 
will  want,  and  be  off  quick,  and  I  '11  have  the  pony  got  up, 
and  come  on  behind  you." 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE    PEEPAEATION. 

The  excitement  produced  by  the  arrival  of  Tiff,  and  the 
fitting  out  of  Milly  to  the  cottage,  had  produced  a  most 
favorable  diversion  in  Nina's  mind  from  her  own  especial 
perplexities. 

Active  and  buoyant,  she  threw  herself  at  once  into  what- 
ever happened  to  come  uppermost  on  the  tide  of  events. 
So,  having  seen  the  wagon  despatched,  she  sat  down  to 
breakfast  in  high  spirits. 

"  Aunt  Nesbit,  I  declare  I  was  so  interested  in  that  old 
man  !  I  intend  to  have  the  pony,  after  breakfast,  and  ride 
over  there." 

"  I  thought  you  were  expecting  company." 

"Well,  that's  one  reason,  now,  why  I'd  like  to  be  off. 
Do  I  want  to  sit  all  primmed  up,  smiling  and  smirking,  and 
running  to  the  window  to  see  if  my  gracious  lord  is  com- 
ing ?  No,  I  won't  do  that,  to  please  any  of  them.  If  I 
happen  to  fancy  to  be  out  riding,  I  will  be  out  riding." 

"I  think,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "that  the  hovels  of  these 
miserable  creatures  are  no  proper  place  for  a  young  lady 
of  your  position  in  life." 

"  My  position  in  life  !  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do 
with  it.  My  position  in  life  enables  me  to  do  anything  I 
please  —  a  liberty  which  I  take  pretty  generally.  And,  then, 
really,  I  could  n't  help  feeling  rather  sadly  about  it,  because 
that  Old  Tiff,  there  (I  believe  that 's  his  name),  told  me  that 
the  woman  had  been  of  a  good  Virginia  family.  Very  likely 
she  may  have  been  just  such  another  wild  girl  as  I  am,  and 
11* 


126  THE    PREPARATION. 

thought  as  little  about  bad  times,  and  of  dying-,  as  I  do. 
So  I  could  n't  help  feeling  sad  for  her.  It  really  came  over 
me  when  I  was  walking  in  the  garden.  Such  a  beautiful 
morning  as  it  was — the  birds  all  singing,  and  the  dew 
all  glittering  and  shining  on  the  flowers  !  Why,  aunt,  the 
flowers  really  seemed  alive  ;  it  seemed  as  though  I  could 
hear  them  breathing,  and  hear  their  hearts  beating  like 
mine.  And,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  heard  the  most  wild,  mourn- 
ful singing,  over  in  the  woods.  It  was  n't  anything  very 
beautiful,  you  know,  but  it  was  so  wild,  and  strange  !  '  She 
is  dead  and  gone  to  heaven  !  —  she  is  dead  and  gone  to 
heaven  ! '  And  pretty  soon  I  saw  the  funniest  old  wagon 
—  I  don't  know  what  to  call  it  —  and  this  queer  old  biack 
man  in  it,  with  an  old  white  hat  and  surtout  on,  and  a  pair  of 
great,  funny-looking  spectacles  on  his  nose.  I  went  to  the 
fence  to  see  who  he  was  ;  and  he  came  up  and  spoke  to  me, 
made  the  most  respectful  bow  —  you  ought  to  have  seen  it! 
And  then,  poor  fellow,  he  told  me  how  his  mistress  was 
lying  dead,  with  the  children  around  her,  and  nobody  in  the 
house  !  The  poor  old  creature,  he  actually  cried,  and  I  felt 
so  for  him  !  He  seemed  to  be  proud  of  his  dead  mistress, 
in  spite  of  her  poverty." 

"  Where  do  they  live  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nesbit. 

"  Why,  he  told  me  over  in  the  pine  woods,  near  the 
swamp." 

"  0,"  said  Mrs.  Nesbit,  "  I  dare  say  it  's  that  Cripps  fam- 
ily, that 's  squatted  in  the  pine  woods.  A  most  miserable 
set  —  all  of  them  liars  and  thieves  !  If  I  had  known  who  it 
was,  I  'm  sure  I  should  n't  have  let  Milly  go  over.  Such 
families  oughtn't  to  be  encouraged  ;  there  ought  n't  a  thing 
to  be  done  for  them  ;  we  should  n't  encourage  them  to  stay 
in  the  neighborhood.  They  always  will  steal  from  off  the 
plantations,  and  corrupt  the  negroes,  and  get  drunk,  and 
everything  else  that's  bad.  There's  never  a  woman  of 
decent  character  among  them,  that  ever  I  heard  of;  and,  if 
you  were  my  daughter,  I  should  n't  let  you  go  near  them." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  your  daughter,  thank  fortune !  "  said  Nina, 


THE    PREPARATION.  127 

whose  graces  always  rapidly  declined  in  controversies  with 
her  aunt,  "and  so  I  shall  do  as  I  please.  And  I  don't  know 
what  you  pious  people  talk  so  for  ;  for  Christ  went  with 
publicans  and  sinners,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "the  Bible  says  we  mustn't 
cast  pearls  before  swine  ;  and,  when  you  've  lived  to  be  as 
old  as  I  am,  you  '11  know  more  than  you  do  now.  Every- 
body knows  that  you  can't  do  anything  with  these  people. 
You  can't  give  them  Bibles,  nor  tracts  ;  for  they  can't  read. 
I  've  tried  it,  sometimes,  visiting  them,  and  talking  to  them  ; 
but  it  didn't  do  them  any  good.  I  always  thought  there 
ought  to  be  a  law  passed  to  make  'em  all  slaves,  and  then 
there  would  be  somebody  to  take  care  of  them." 

"  Well,  I  can't  see,"  said  Nina,  "how  it's  their  fault. 
There  is  n't  any  school  where  they  could  send  their  chil- 
dren, if  they  wanted  to  learn  ;  and,  then,  if  they  want  to 
work,  there  's  nobody  who  wants  to  hire  them.  So,  what 
can  they  do  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  in  that  tone 
which  generally  means  I  don't  care.  "  All  I  know  is,  that* 
I  want  them  to  get  away  from  the  neighborhood.  Giving 
to  them  is  just  like  putting  into  a  bag  with  holes.  I  'm  sure 
I  put  myself  to  a  great  inconvenience  on  their  account  to- 
day ;  for,  if  there 's  anything  I  do  hate,  it  is  having  things 
irregular.  And  to-day  is  the  day  for  clear-starching  the 
caps  —  and  such  a  good,  bright,  sunny  day !  — and  to-morrow, 
or  any  other  day  of  the  week,  it  may  rain.  Always  puts 
me  all  out  to  have  things  that  I  've  laid  out  to  do  put  out 
of  their  regular  order.  I  'd  been  willing  enough  to  have 
sent  over  some  old  things  ;  but  why  they  must  needs  take 
Milly's  time,  just  as  if  the  funeral  could  n't  have  got  ready 
without  her !  These  funerals  are  always  miserable  drunken 
times  with  them!  And,  then,  who  knows,  she  may  catch 
the  small-pox,  or  something  or  other.  There  's  never  any 
knowing  what  these  people  die  of." 

"They  die  of  just  such  things  as  we  do,"  said  Nina. 
"  They  have  that  in  common  with  us,  at  any  rate." 


128  THE    PREPARATION. 

"  Yes';  but  there's  no  reason  for  risking  our  lives,  as  I 
know  of —  especially  for  such  people  - —  when  it  don't  do 
any  good." 

"Why,  aunt,  what  do  you  know  against  these  folks?- 
Have  you  ever  known  of  their  doing  anything  wicked  ?  " 

"  0,  I  don't  know  that  I  know  anything  against  this 
family  in  particular  ;  but  I  know  the  whole  race.  These 
squatters  —  I  've  known  them  ever  since  I  was  a  girl  in 
Virginia.  Everybody  that  knows  anything  knows  exactly 
what  they  are.  There  is  n't  any  help  for  them,  unless,  as  I 
said  before,  they  were  made  slaves  ;  and  then  they  could  be 
kept  decent.  You  may  go  to  see  them,  if  you  like,  but  I 
don't  want  my  arrangements  to  be  interfered  with  on  their 
account." 

Mrs.  Nesbit  was  one  of  those  quietly-persisting  people, 
whose  yielding  is  like  the  stretching  of  an  India-rubber 
band,  giving  way  only  to  a  violent  pull,  and  going  back  to 
the  same  place  when  the  force  is  withdrawn.  She  seldom 
refused  favors  that  were  urged  with  any  degree  of  impor- 
tunity ;  not  because  her  heart  was  touched,  but  simply 
because  she  seemed  not  to  have  force  enough  to  refuse ; 
and  whatever  she  granted  was  always  followed  by  a  series 
of  subdued  lamentations  over  the  necessity  which  had 
wrung  them  from  her. 

Nina's  nature  was  so  vehement  and  imperious,  when 
excited,  that  it  was  a  disagreeable  fatigue  to  cross  her. 
Mrs.  Nesbit,  therefore,  made  amends  by  bemoaning  her- 
self as  we  have  seen.  Nina  started  up,  hastily,  on  seeing 
her  pony  brought  round  to  the  door  ;  and,  soon  arrayed  in 
her  riding-dress,  she  was  cantering  through  the  pine  woods 
in  high  spirits.  The  day  was  clear  and  beautiful.  The  floor 
of  the  woodland  path  was  paved  with  a  thick  and  cleanly 
carpet  of  the  fallen  pine-leaves.  And  Harry  was  in  attend- 
ance with  her,  mounted  on  another  horse,  and  riding  but  a 
very  little  behind  ;  not  so  much  so  but  what  his  mistress 
could,  if  she  would,  keep  up  a  conversation  with  him. 

"  You  know  this  Old  Tiff,  Harry  ?  " 


THE    PREPARATION.  129 

"  0,  yes,  very  well.  A  very  good,  excellent  creature,  and 
very  much  the  superior  of  his  master,  in  most  respects." 

"  "Well,  he  says  his  mistress  came  of  a  good  family." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  Harry.  "  She  always  had  a 
delicate  appearance,  very  different  from  people  in  their  cir- 
cumstances generally.  The  children,  too,  are  remarkably 
pretty,  well-behaved  children  ;  and  it 's  a  pity  they  could  n't 
be  taught  something,  and  not  grow  up  and  go  on  these  mis- 
erable ways  of  these  poor  whites  !  " 

"  Why  don't  anybody  ever  teach  them  ?  "  said  Nina. 

"  Well,  Miss  Nina,  you  know  how  it  is  :  everybody  has 
his  own  work  and  business  to  attend  to  —  there  are  no 
schools  for  them  to  go  to  —  there  's  no  work  for  them  to  do. 
In  fact,  there  don't  seem  to  be  any  place  for  them  in  society. 
Boys  generally  grow  up  to  drink  and  swear.  And,  as  for 
girls,  they  are  of  not  much  account.  So  it  goes  on  from 
generation  to  generation." 

"  This  is  so  strange,  and  so  different  from  what  it  is  in  the 
northern  states  !  Why,  all  the  children  go  to  school  there 
—  the  very  poorest  people's  children  !  Why,  a  great  many 
of  the  first  men,  there,  were  poor  children  !  Why  can't 
there  be  some  such  thing  here  ?  " 

"  0,  because  people  are  settled  in  such  a  scattering  way, 
they  can't  have  schools.  All  the  land  that's  good  for  any- 
thing is  taken  up  for  large  estates.  And,  then,  these  poor 
folks  that  are  scattered  up  and  down  in  between,  it's  no- 
body's business  to  attend  to  them,  and  they  can't  attend  to 
themselves  ;  and  so  they  grow  up,  and  nobody  knows  how 
they  live,  and  everybody  seems  to  think  it  a  pity  they  are 
in  the  world.  I  've  seen  those  sometimes  that  would  be  glad 
to  do  something,  if  they  could  find  anything  to  do.  Planters 
don't  want  them  on  their  places  —  they'd  rather  have  their 
own  servants.  If  one  of  them  wants  to  be  a  blacksmith,  or 
a  carpenter,  there  's  no  encouragement.  Most  of  the  large 
estates  have  their  own  carpenters  and  blacksmiths.  And 
there  's  nothing  for  them  to  do,  unless  it  is  keeping  dogs 
to  hunt  negroes  ;    or  these  little  low  stores  where  they  sell 


130  THE    PREPARATION. 

whiskey,  and  take  what 's  stolen  from  the  plantations. 
Sometimes  a  smart  one  gets  a  place  as  overseer  on  a  plan- 
tation. Why,  I  've  heard  of  their  coming-  so  low  as  actually 
to  sell  their  children  to  traders,  to  get  a  bit  of  bread." 

"  What  miserable  creatures  !  But  do  you  suppose  it  can 
be  possible  that  a  woman  of  any  respectable  family  can  have 
married  a  man  of  this  sdrt  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  Miss  Nina  ;  that  might  be.  You 
see,  good  families  sometimes  degenerate  ;  and  when  they  get 
too  poor  to  send  their  children  off  to  school,  or  keep  any 
teachers  for  them,  they  run  down  very  fast.  This  man  is 
not  bad-looking,  and  he  really  is  a  person  who,  if  he  had  had 
any  way  opened  to  him,  might  have  been  a  smart  man,  and 
made  something  of  himself  and  family .;  and  when  he  was 
young  and  better-looking,  I  should  n't  wonder  if  an  unedu- 
cated girl,  who  had  never  been  off  a  plantation,  might  have 
liked  him ;  he  was  fully  equal,  I  dare  say,  to  her  brothers. 
You  see,  Miss  Nina,  when  money  goes,  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  everything  goes  with  it ;  and  when  a  family  is  not 
rich  enough  to  have  everything  in  itself,  it  goes  down  very 
soon." 

"At  any  rate,  I  pity  the  poor  things,"  said  Nina.  "I 
don't  despise  them,  as  Aunt  Nesbit  does." 

Here  Nina,  observing  the  path  clear  and  uninterrupted 
for  some  distance  under  the  arching  pines,  struck  her  horse 
iii to  a  canter,  and  they  rode  on  for  some  distance  without 
speaking.  Soon  the  horse's  feet  splashed  and  pattered  on 
the  cool,  pebbly  bottom  of  a  small,  shallow  stream,  which 
flowed  through  the  woods.  This  stream  went  meandering 
among  the  pines  like  a  spangled  ribbon,  sometimes  tying 
itself  into  loops,  leaving  open  spots  —  almost  islands  of 
green  —  graced  by  its  waters.  Such  a  little  spot  now 
opened  to  the  view  of  the  two  travellers.  It  was  something 
less  than  a  quarter  of  an  acre  in  extent,  entirely  surrounded 
by  the  stream,  save  only  a  small  neck  of  about  four  feet, 
which  connected  it  to  the  main  land. 

Here  a  place  had  been  cleared  and  laid  off  into  a  garden, 


THE    PREPARATION.  131 

which,  it  was  evident,  was  carefully  tended.  The  log-cabin 
which  stood  in  the  middle  was  far  from  having  the  appear- 
ance of  wretchedness  which  Xina  had  expected.  It  was 
almost  entirely  a  dense  mass  of  foliage,  being  covered  with 
the  intermingled  drapery  of  the  Virginia  creeper  and  the 
yellow  jessamine.  Two  little  borders,  each  side  of  the  house, 
were  blooming  with  flowers.  Around  the  little  island  the 
pine-trees  closed  in  unbroken  semi-circle,  and  the  brook 
meandered  away  through  them,  to  lose  itself  eventually  in 
that  vast  forest  of  swampy  land  which  girdles  the  whole 
Carolina  shore.  The  whole  air  of  the  place  was  so  unex- 
pectedly inviting,  in  its  sylvan  stillness  and  beauty,  that 
Xina  could  not  help  checking  her  horse,  and  exclaiming, 

"  I  'm  sure,  it 's  a  pretty  place.  They  can't  be  such  very 
forsaken  people,  after  all." 

"0,  that's  all  Tiff's  work,"  said  Harry.  "He  takes 
care  of  everything  outside  and  in,  while  the  man  is  off  after 
nobody  knows  what.  You  "d  be  perfectly  astonished  to  see 
how  that  old  creature  manages.  He  sews,  and  he  knits, 
and  works  the  garden,  does  the  house-work,  and  teaches  the 
children.  It 's  a  fact !  You  '11  notice  that  they  have  n't  the 
pronunciation  or  the  manners  of  these  wild  white  children  ; 
and  I  take  it  to  be  all  Tiff's  watchfulness,  for  that  creature 
has  n't  one  particle  of  selfishness  in  him.  He  just  identifies 
himself  with  his  mistress  and  her  children." 

By  this  time  Tiff  had  perceived  their  approach,  and  came 
out  to  assist  them  in  dismounting. 

"  De  Lord  above  bless  you,  Miss  Gordon,  for  coming  to 
see  my  poor  missis  !  Ah  !  she  is  lying  dere  just  as  beauti- 
ful, just  as  she  was  the  very  day  she  was  married  !  All  her 
young  looks  come  back  to  her  ;  and  Milly,  she  done  laid 
her  out  beautiful !  Lord,  I 's  wanting  somebody  to  come 
and  look  at  her,  because  she  has  got  good  blood,  if  she  be 
poor.  She  is  none  of  your  common  sort  of  poor  whites, 
Miss  Xina.     Just  come  in  ;  come  in,  and  look  at  her." 

Xina  stepped  into  the  open  door  of  the  hut.  The  bed 
was  covered  with  a  clean  white  sheet,  and  the  body,  arrayed 


132  THE    PREPARATION. 

in  a  long  white  night-dress  brought  by  Milly,  lay  there  so 
very  still,  quiet,  and  life-like,  that  one  could  scarcely  realize 
the  presence  of  death.  The  expression  of  exhaustion, 
fatigue,  and  anxiety,  which  the  face  had  latterly  worn,  had 
given  place  to  one  of  tender  rest,  shaded  by  a  sort  of  mys- 
terious awe,  as  if  the  closed  eyes  were  looking  on  unutter- 
able things.  The  soul,  though  sunk  below  the  horizon  of 
existence,  had  thrown  back  a  twilight  upon  the  face  radiant 
as  that  of  the  evening  heavens. 

By  the  head  of  the  bed  the  little  girl  was  sitting,  dressed 
carefully,  and  her  curling  hair  parted  in  front,  apparently 
fresh  from  the  brush  ;  and  the  little  boy  was  sitting  beside 
her,  his  round  blue  eyes  bearing  an  expression  of  subdued 
wonder. 

Cripps  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  evidently  much 
the  worse  for  liquor ;  for,  spite  of  the  exhortation  of  Tiff,  he 
had  applied  to  the  whiskey-jug  immediately  on  his  depart- 
ure. Why  not  ?  Tie  was  uncomfortable  —  gloomy  ;  and 
every  one,  under  such  circumstances,  naturally  inclines 
towards  some  source  of  consolation.  He  who  is  intellectual 
reads  and  studies  ;  he  who  is  industrious  flies  to  business  ;  he 
who  is  affectionate  seeks  friends  ;  he  who  is  pious,  religion ; 
but  he  who  is  none  of  these  —  what  has  he  but  his  whiskey  ? 
Cripps  made  a  stupid,  staring  inclination  toward  Nina  and 
Harry,  as  they  entered,  and  sat  still,  twirling  his  thumbs  and 
muttering  to  himself. 

The  sunshine  fell  through  the  panes  on  the  floor,  and  there 
came  floating  in  from  without  the  odor  of  flowers  and  the 
song  of  birds.  All  the  Father's  gentle  messengers  spoke 
of  comfort ;  but  he  as  a  deaf  man  heard  not  —  as  a  blind 
man  did  not  regard.  For  the  rest,  an  air  of  neatness  had 
been  imparted  to  the  extreme  poverty  of  the  room,  by  the 
joint  efforts  of  Milly  and  Tiff. 

Tiff  entered  softly,  and  stood  by  Nina,  as  she  gazed.  He 
had  in  his  hand  several  sprays  of  white  jessamine,  and  he 
laid  one  on  the  bosom  of  the  dead. 


THE    PREPARATION.  133 

"  She  had  a  hard  walk  of  it,"  he  said,  "but  she  's  got 
home  !     Don't  she  look  peaceful  ?  —  poor  lamb  !  " 

The  little,  thoughtless,  gay  coquette  had  never  looked  on 
a  sight  like  this  before.  She  stood  with  a  fixed,  tender 
thoughtfulness,  unlike  her  usual  gayety,  her  riding-hat  hang- 
ing carelessly  by  its  strings  from  her  hands,  her  loose  hair 
drooping  over  her  face. 

She  heard  some  one  entering  the  cottage,  but  she  did  not 
look  up.  She  was  conscious  of  some  one  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  and  thought  it  was  Harry. 

"Poor  thing!  how  3roung  she  looks,"  she  said,  "  to  have 
had  so  much  trouble  !  "  Her  voice  trembled,  and  a  tear  stood 
in  her  eye.  There  was  a  sudden  movement ;  she  looked  up, 
and  Clayton  was  standing  by  her. 

She  looked  surprised,  and  the  color  deepened  in  her 
cheek,  but  was  too  ingenuously  and  really  in  sympathy  with 
the  scene  before  her  even  to  smile.  She  retained  his  hand 
a  moment,  and  turned  to  the  dead,  saying,  in  an  under-tone, 
"  See  here  !  " 

"  I  see,"  he  said.     "  Can  I  be  of  service  ?  " 

"The  poor  thing  died  last  night,"  said  Nina.  "I  sup- 
pose some  one  might  help  about  a  funeral.  Harry,"  she 
said,  walking  softly  towards  the  door,  and  speaking  low, 
"  you  provide  a  coffin  ;   have  it  made  neatly." 

"Uncle,"  she  said,  motioning  Tiff  towards  her,  "where 
would  they  have  her  buried  ?  " 

"  Buried  ?  "  said  Tiff.  "  0,  Lord  !  buried  !  "  And  he  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hard  hands,  and  the  tears  ran  through 
his  fingers. 

"Lord,  Lord!  Well,  it  must  come,  I  know,  but  'pears 
like  I  could  n't !  Laws,  she  's  so  beautiful !  Don't,  to-day  ! 
don't!" 

"Indeed,  Uncle,"  said  Nina,  tenderly,  "I'm  sorry  I 
grieved  you  ;  but  you  know,  poor  fellow,  that  must  come." 

"  I 's  known  her  ever  since  she  's  dat  high  !  "  said  Tiff. 
"Her  har  was  curly,  and  she  used  to  war  such  pretty  red 
shoes,  and  come  running  after  me  in  de  garden.  '  Tiff,  Tiff,' 
12 


134  THE   PREPARATION. 

she  used  to  say  —  and  dar  she  is  now,  and  stroubles  brought 
her  dar  !  Lord,  what  a  pretty  gal  she  was  !  pretty  as  you 
be,  Miss  Nina.  But  since  she  married  dat  ar,"  pointing 
with  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  and  speaking  confiden- 
tially, "  everything  went  wrong.  I 's  held  her  up  —  did  all 
I  could  ;  and  now  here  she  is  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Nina,  laying  her  hand  on  his,  "perhaps 
she  's  in  a  better  place  than  this." 

"  0,  Lord,  dat  she  is  !  She  told  me  dat  when  she  died. 
She  saw  de  Lord  at  last,  —  she  did  so  !  Dem  's  her  last 
words.  '  Tiff/  she  says,  '  I  see  Him,  and  He  will  give  me 
rest.  Tiff/  she  says,  — I  'd  been  asleep,  you  know,  and  I 
kinder  felt  something  cold  on  my  hand,  and  I  woke  up  right 
sudden,  and  dar  she  was,  her  eyes  so  bright,  looking  at  me 
and  breathing  so  hard ;  and  all  she  says  was,  '  Tiff,  I  've 
seen  Him,  and  I  know  now  why  I  've  suffered  so  ;  He  's 
gwine  to  take  me,  and  give  me  rest ! '  " 

"  Then,  my  poor  fellow,  you  ought  to  rejoice  that  she  is 
safe." 

"  'Deed  I  does,"  said  Tiff;  "yet  I 's  selfish.  I  wants  to 
be  dere  too,  I  does  —  only  I  has  de  chil'en  to  care  for." 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Nina,  "  we  must  leave  you 
now.  Harry  will  see  about  a  coffin  for  your  poor  mistress  ; 
and  whenever  the  funeral  is  to  be,  our  carriage  will  come 
over,  and  we  will  all  attend." 

"Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Gordon  !  Dat  ar  too  good  on  ye  I 
My  heart 's  been  most  broke,  tinking  nobody  cared  for  my 
poor  young  mistress  !  you  's  too  good,  dat  you  is  !  " 

Then,  drawing  near  to  her,  and  sinking  his  voice,  he  said: 
"  'Bout  de  mourning,  Miss  Nina.  He  an't  no  'count,  you 
know  —  body  can  see  how  'tis  with  him  very  plain.  But 
missis  was  a  Peyton,  you  know  ;  and  I 's  a  Peyton,  too.  I 
naturally  feels  a  'sponsibility  he  could  n't  be  'spected  fur  to. 
I  ;s  took  de  ribbons  off  of  Miss  Fanny's  bonnet,  and  done 
de  best  I  could  trimming  it  up  with  black  crape  what  Milly 
gave  me ;  and  I 's  got  a  band  of  black  crape  on  Master 
Teddy's  hat ;   and  I  'lowed  to  put  one  on  mine,  but  there 


THE    PREPARATION.  ,  135 

was  n't  quite  enough.  You  know,  missis,  old  family  ser- 
vants always  wars  mourning.  If  missis  just  be  pleased  to 
look  over  my  work  !  Now,  dis  yer  is  Miss  Fanny's  bonnet. 
You  know  I  can't  be  spected  for  to  make  it  like  a  milliner." 

"  They  are  very  well  indeed,  Uncle  Tiff." 

"  Perhaps,  Miss  Nina,  you  can  kind  of  touch  it  over." 

"  0,  if  you  like,  Uncle  Tiff,  I  '11  take  them  all  home,  and 
do  them  for  you." 

"The  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Gordon!  Dat  ar  was  just 
what  I  wanted,  but  was  most  'fraid  to  ask  you.  Some  gay 
young  ladies  does  n't  like  to  handle  black." 

"  Ah  !  Uncle  Tiff,  I  've  no  fears  of  that  sort ;  so  put  it  in 
the  wagon,  and  let  Milly  take  it  home." 

So  saying,  she  turned  and  passed  out  of  the  door  where 
Harry  was  standing,  holding  the  horses.  A  third  party 
might  have  seen,  by  the  keen,  rapid  glance  with  which  his 
eye  rested  upon  Clayton,  that  he  was  measuring  the  future 
probability  which  might  make  him  the  arbiter  of  his  own 
destiny  —  the  disposer  of  all  that  was  dear  to  him  in  life. 
As  for  Nina,  although  the  day  before  a  thousand  fancies  and 
coquetries  would  have  colored  the  manner  of  her  meeting 
Clayton,  yet  now  she  was  so  impressed  by  what  she  had  wit- 
nessed, that  she  scarcely  appeared  to  know  that  she  had 
met  him.  She  placed  her  pretty  foot  on  his  hand,  and  let 
him  lift  her  on  to  the  saddle,  scarcely  noticing  the  act,  ex- 
cept by  a  serious,  graceful  inclination  of  her  head. 

One  great  reason  of  the  ascendency  which  Clayton  had 
thus  far  gained  over  her,  was  that  his  nature,  so  quiet, 
speculative,  and  undemonstrative,  always  left  her  such  per- 
fect liberty  to  follow  the  more  varying  moods  of  her  own. 
A  man  of  a  different  mould  would  have  sought  to  awake 
her  out  of  the  trance  —  would  have  remarked  on  her  ab- 
stracted manner,  or  rallied  her  on  her  silence.  Clayton 
merely  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  quietly  by  her  side, 
while  Harry,  passing  on  before  them,  was  soon  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTEE     XI. 

THE    LOVEES. 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  till  their  horses'  feet  again  clat- 
tered in  the  clear,  pebbly  water  of  the  stream.  Here  Nina 
checked  her  horse  ;  and,  pointing'  round  the  circle  of  pine 
forests,  and  up  the  stream,  overhung  with  bending  trees 
and  branches,  said  : 

"Hush! — listen!"  Both  stopped,  and  heard  the  sway- 
ing of  the  pine-trees,  the  babble  of  the  waters,  the  cawing 
of  distant  crows,  and  the  tapping  of  the  woodpecker. 

"  How  beautiful  everything  is  !  "  she  said.  "  It  seems  to 
me  so  sad  that  people  must  die !  I  never  saw  anybody  dead 
before,  and  you  don't  know  how  it  makes  me  feel !  To  think 
that  that  poor  woman  was  just  such  a  girl  as  I  am,  and 
used  to  be  just  so  full  of  life,  and  never  thought  any  more 
than  I  do  that  she  should  lie  there  all  cold  and  dead  !  Why 
is  it  things  are  made  so  beautiful,  if  we  must  die  ?  " 

"  Eemember  what  you  said  to  the  old  man,  Miss  Nina. 
Perhaps  she  sees  more  beautiful  things,  now." 

"  In  heaven  ?  Yes  ;  I  wish  we  knew  more  about  heaven, 
so  that  it  would  seem  natural  and  home-like  to  us,  as  this 
world  does.  As  for  me,  I  can't  feel  that  I  ever  want  to 
leave  this  world  —  I  enjoy  living  so  much  !  I  can't  forget 
how  cold  her  hand  was  !  I  never  felt  anything  like  that 
cold  !  " 

In  all  the  varying  moods  of  Nina,  Clayton  had  never  seen 
anything  that  resembled  this.  But  he  understood  the  pe- 
culiar singleness  and  earnestness  of  nature  which  made  any 
one  idea,  or  impression,  for  a  time  absolute  in  her  mind. 


THE    LOVERS.  137 

They  turned  their  horses  into  the  wood-path,  and  rode  on 
in  silence. 

"  Do  you  know/'  said  she,  "it's  such  a  change  coming 
from  New  York  to  live  here  ?  Everything  is  so  unformed, 
so  wild,  and  so  lonely  !  I  never  saw  anything  so  lonesome 
as  these  woods  are.  Here  you  can  ride  miles  and  miles, 
hours  and  hours,  and  hear  nothing  but  the  swaying  of  the 
pine-trees,  just  as  you  hear  it  now.  Our  place  (you  never 
were  there,  were  you  ?)  stands  all  by  itself,  miles  from  any 
other  ;  and  I  've  been  for  so  many  years  used  to  a  thickly- 
settled  country,  that  it  seems  very  strange  to  me.  I  can't 
help  thinking  things  look  rather  deserted  and  desolate,  here. 
It  makes  me  rather  sober  and  sad.  I  don't  know  as  you  7h 
like  the  appearance  of  our  place.  A  great  many  things  arc 
going  to  decay  about  it ;  and  yet  there  are  some  thingt 
that  can't  decay  ;  for  papa  was  very  fond  of  trees  and  shrub 
bery,  and  we  have  a  good  deal  more  of  them  than  usual, 
Are  you  fond  of  trees  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  'm  almost  a  tree-worshipper.  I  have  no  respect 
for  a  man  who  can't  appreciate  a  tree.  The  only  good  thing 
I  ever  heard  of  Xerxes  was,  that  he  was  so  transported  with 
the  beauty  of  a  plane-tree,  that  he  hung  it  with  chains  of 
gold.  This  is  a  little  poetical  island  in  the  barbarism  of 
those  days." 

"  Xerxes  !  "  said  Nina.  "  I  believe  I  studied  something 
about  him  in  that  dismal,  tedious  history,  au  Madame  Ar- 
daine's  ;  but  nothing  so  interesting  as  that,  I  m  sure.  But 
what  should  he  hang  gold  chains  on  a  tree  feu  ?  " 

"  'T  was  the  best  way  he  knew  of  expressing  his  good 
opinion." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Nina,  half  checking  her  horse, 
suddenly,  "  that  I  never  had  the  least  idea  that  these  men 
were  alive  that  we  read  about  in  these  histories,  or  that 
they  had  any  feelings  like  ours  ?  We  always  studied  the 
lessons,  and  learnt  the  hard  names,  and  how  forty  thousand 
were  killed  on  one  side,  and  fifty  thousand  on  the  other  ; 
and  we  don't  know  any  more  about  it  than  if  we  never  had. 
12* 


138  THE   LOVEBS. 

That 's  the  way  we  girls  studied  at  school,  except  a  few 
' l^oky'  ones,  who  wanted  to  be  learned,  or  meant  to  be 
teachers." 

"  An  interesting  resume,  certainly/'  said  Clayton,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  But,  how  strange  it  is,"  said  Nina,  "to  think  that  all 
those  folks  we  read  about  are  alive  now,  doing  something 
somewhere;  and  I  get  to  wondering  where  they  are  — 
Xerxes,  and  Alexander,  and  the  rest  of  them.  Why,  they 
were  so  full  of  life  they  kept  everything  in  commotion  while 
in  this  world  ;  and  I  wonder  if  they  have  been  keeping 
a  going  ever  since.  Perhaps  Xerxes  has  been  looking  round 
at  our  trees  —nobody  knows.  But  here  we  are  coming  now 
to  the  beginning  of  our  grounds.  There,  you  see  that  holly- 
hedge  !  Mamma  had  that  set  out.  She  travelled  in  England, 
and  liked  the  hedges  there  so  nmch  that  she  thought  she 
would  see  what  could  be  done  with  our  American  holly. 
So  she  had  these  brought  from  the  woods,  and  planted. 
You  see  it  all  grows  wild,  now,  because  it  has  n't  been  cut 
for  many  years.  And  this  live-oak  avenue  my  grandfather 
set  out.     It's  my  pride  and  delight." 

As  she  spoke,  a  pair  of  broad  gates  swung  open,  and 
they  cantered  in  beneath  the  twilight  arches  of  the  oaks. 
Long  wreaths  of  pearly  moss  hung  swinging  from  the 
branches,  and,  although  the  sun  now  was  at  high  noon,  a 
dewy,  dreamy  coolness  seemed  to  rustle  through  all  the 
leaves.  As  Clayton  passed  in,  he  took  off  his  hat,  as  he 
had  often  done  in  foreign  countries  in  cathedrals. 

"  Welcome  to  Canema  !  "  said  she,  riding  up  to  him,  and 
looking  up  frankly  into  his  face. 

The  air,  half  queenly,  half  childish,  with  which  this  was 
said,  was  acknowledged  by  Clayton  with  a  grave  smile,  as 
he  replied,  bowing, 

"  Thank  you,  madam." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  added,  in  a  grave  tone,  "you  '11  be  sorry 
that  you  ever  came  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  replied. 


THE    LOVERS.  139 

"  I  don't  know  ;  it  just  came  into  my  head  to  say  it. 
We  none  of  us  ever  know  what 's  going  to  come  of  what 
we  do." 

At  this  instant,  a  violent  clamor,  like  the  cawing  of  a 
crow,  rose  on  one  side  of  the  avenue  ;  and  the  moment 
after,  Tomtit  appeared,  caricoling,  and  cutting  a  somerset ; 
his  curls  Hying,  his  cheeks  glowing. 

"  Why,  Tomtit,  what  upon  earth  is  this  for  ?  "  said  Xina. 

"  Laws,  missis,  deres  been  a  gen'elman  waiting  for  you  at 
the  house  these  two  hours.  And  missis,  she  's  done  got  on 
her  best  cap,  and  gone  down  in  the  parlor  for  him." 

Nina  felt  herself  blush  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  was 
vexed  and  provoked  to  think  she  did  so.  Involuntarily  her 
eyes  met  Clayton's.  But  he  expressed  neither  curiosity 
nor  concern. 

"  What  a  pretty  drapery  this  light  moss  makes  !  "  said 
he.    "  I  was  n't  aware  that  it  grew  so  high  up  in  the  state." 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  very  pretty,"  said  Xina,  abstractedly. 

Clayton,  however,  had  noticed  both  the  message  and  the 
blush,  and  was  not  so  ill-informed  as  Xina  supposed  as  to  the 
whole  affair,  having  heard  from  a  Xew  York  correspond- 
ent of  the  probability  that  an  arrival  might  appear  upon 
the  field  about  this  time.  He  was  rather  curious  to  watch 
the  development  produced  by  this  event.  They  paced  up 
the  avenue,  conversing  in  disconnected  intervals,  till  they 
came  out  on  the  lawn  which  fronted  the  mansion  —  a  large, 
gray,  three-story  building,  surrounded  on  the  four  sides  by 
wide  balconies  of  wood.  Access  was  had  to  the  lower  of 
these  by  a  broad  flight  of  steps.  And  there  Xina  saw,  plain 
enough,  her  Aunt  Xesbit  in  all  the  proprieties  of  cap  and 
silk  gown,  sitting,  making  the  agreeable  to  Mr.  Carson. 

Mr.  Frederic  Augustus  Carson  was  one  of  those  nice  lit- 
tle epitomes  of  conventional  society,  which  appear  to  such 
advantage  in  factitious  life,  and  are  so  out  of  piac?  'n  the 
undress,  sincere  surroundings  of  country  life.  Xina  had 
liked  his  society  extremely  well  in  the  drawing-rooms  and 
opera-houses  of  Xew  York.     But,  in  the  train  of  thought 


140  THE    LOVERS. 

inspired  by  the  lonely  and  secluded  life  she  was  now  lead- 
ing, it  seemed  to  her  an  absolute  impossibility  that  she 
could,  even  in  coquetry  and  in  sport,  have  allowed  such  an 
one  to  set  up  pretensions  to  her  hand  and  heart.  She  was 
vexed  with  herself  that  she  had  done  so,  and  therefore  not 
in  the  most  amiable  mood  for  a  meeting-.  Therefore,  when, 
on  ascending  the  steps,  he  rushed  precipitately  forward, 
and,  offering  his  hand,  called  her  Nina,  she  was  ready  to  die 
with  A^exation.  She  observed,  too,  a  peculiar  swelling  and 
rustling  of  Aunt  Nesbit's  plumage,  —  an  indescribable  air 
of  tender  satisfaction,  peculiar  to  elderly  ladies  who  are 
taking  an  interest  in  an  affair  of  the  heart,  which  led  her 
to  apprehend  that  the  bachelor  had  commenced  operations 
by  declaring  his  position  to  her.  'T  was  with  some  embar- 
rassment that  Nina  introduced  Mr.  Clayton,  whom  Aunt 
Nesbit  received  with  a  most  stately  curtsey,  and  Mr.  Carson 
with  a  patronizing  bow. 

"  Mr.  Carson  has  been  waiting  for  you  these  two  hours," 
said  Aunt  Nesbit. 

"  Very  warm  riding,  Nina,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  observing 
her  red  cheeks.  "  You  've  been  riding  too  fast,  I  fear.  You 
must  be  careful  of  yourself.  I  've  known  people  bring  on 
very  grave  illnesses  by  over-heating  the  blood  !  " 

Clayton  seated  himself  near  the  door,  and  seemed  to  be 
intent  on  the  scene  without.  And  Carson,  drawing  his 
chair  close  to  Nina,  asked,  in  a  confidential  under-tone, 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Clayton,  of  Cla3rtonviHe,"  said  Nina,  with  as  much 
hauteur  as  she  could  assume. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  —  Hem  !  —  hem  !  I  've  heard  of  the  family  — 
a  very  nice  family  —  a  very  worthy  young  man  —  extremely, 
I  'm  told.     Shall  be  happy  to  make  his  acquaintance." 

"  I  beg,"  said  Nina,  rising,  "the  gentlemen  will  excuse 
me  a  moment  or  two." 

Clayton  replied  by  a  grave  bow,  while  Mr.  Carson,  with 
great  empressement,  handed  Nina. to  the  door.  The  moment 
it  was  closed,  she  stamued,  with  anger,  in  the  entry. 


THE    LOVERS.  141 

"  The  provoking  fool  !  to  take  these  airs  with  me  !  And 
I,  too  —  I  deserve  it !  What  on  earth  could  make  me  think 
I  conld  tolerate  that  man  ?  " 

As  if  Nina's  cup  were  not  yet  full,  Aunt  Nesbit  followed 
her  to  her  chamber  with  an  air  of  unusual  graciousness. 

"  Nina,  my  dear,  he  has  told  me  all  about  it !  and  I  as- 
sure you  I  'm  very  much  pleased  with  him  !  " 

"  Told  you  all  about  ivhat?  "  said  Nina. 

"  Why,  your  engagement,  to  be  sure  !  I'm  delighted  to 
think  you  've  done  so  well  !  I  think  your  Aunt  Maria,  and 
all  of  them,  will  be  delighted  !  Takes  a  weight  of  care  off 
my  mind  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  trouble  yourself  about  me,  or  my 
affairs,  Aunt  Nesbit!"  said  Nina.  "And,  as  for  this  old 
pussy-cat,  with  his  squeaking  boots,  I  won't  have  him  pur- 
ring round  me,  that 's  certain  !  So  provoking-,  to  take  that 
way  towards  me  !  Call  me  Nina,  and  talk  as  though  he 
were  lord  paramount  of  me,  and  everything  here  !  I  '11  let 
him  know  !  " 

"  Why,  Nina  !  Seems  to  me  this  is  very  strange  conduct ! 
I  am  very  much  astonished  at  you  !  " 

"I  dare  say  you  are,  aunt!  I  never  knew  the  time  I 
did  n't  astonish  you  !     But  this  man  I  detest  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear,  what  were  you  engaged  to  him 
for  ?  " 

"Engaged!  Aunt,  for  pity's  sake,  do  hush  !  Engaged  !  I 
should  like  to  know  what  a  New  York  engagement  amounts 
to  !  Engaged  at  ihe  opera  !  —  Engaged  for  a  joke  !  Why, 
he  was  my  boucpiet-holder  !  The  man  is  just  an  opera 
libretto  !  He  was  very  useful  in  his  time.  But  who  wants 
him  afterwards  ?  " 

"But,  my  dear  Nina,  this  trifling  with  gentlemen's 
hearts  !  " 

'■'  I  '11  warrant  his  heart !  It 's  neither  sugar  nor  salt,  I  ;!1 
assure  you.  I  '11  tell  you  what,  -aunt,  he  loves  good  eat- 
ing, good  drinking,  nice  clothes,  nice  houses,  and  good 
times  generally  ;  and  he  wants  a  pretty  wife  as  a  part  of  a 


142  THE   LOVERS. 

whole  ;  and  he  thinks  he'  11  take  me.  But  he  is  mistaken  1 
Calling  me  '  Nina/  indeed  !  Just  let  me  have  a  chance  of 
seeing  him  alone !  I  '11  teach  him  to  call  me  '  Nina '  !  I  '11 
let  him  know  how  things  stand  !  " 

"  But,  Nina,  you  must  confess  you  've  given  him  occasion 
for  all  this." 

"  Well,  supposing  I  have  ?  I  '11  give  him  occasion  for 
something  else,  then  !  " 

"Why,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "he  came  on  to 
know  when  you  '11  fix  the  day  to  be  married  ! " 

"  Married  !  0,  my  gracious  !  Just  think  of  the  creature's 
talking  about  it !  Well,  it  is  my  fault,  as  you  say  ;  but  I  '11 
do  the  best  I  can  to  mend  it." 

"Well,  I  'm  really  sorry  for  him,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit. 

"You  are,  aunt?  Why  don't  you  take  him  yourself, 
then  ?     You  are  as  jroung  and  good-looking  as  he  is." 

"  Nina,  how  you  talk  !  "  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  coloring  and 
bridling.  "  There  ivas  a  time  when  I  was  n't  bad-looking, 
to  be  sure  ;  but  that 's  long  since  past." 

"  0,  that 's  because  you  always  dress  in  stone-color  and 
drab,"  said  Nina,  as  she  stood  brushing  and  arranging  her 
curls.  "  Come,  now,  and  go  down,  aunt,  and  do  the  best 
you  can  till  I  make  my  appearance.  After  all,  as  you  say, 
I  'm  the  most  to  blame.  There  's  no  use  in  being  vexed 
with  the  old  soul.  So,  aunt,  do  be  as  fascinating  as  you 
can  ;  see  if  you  can't  console  him.  Only  remember  how  you 
used  to  turn  off  lovers,  when  you  were  of  my  age." 

"  And  who  is  this  other  gentleman,  Nina  ?  " 

"  0,  nothing,  only  he  is  a  friend  of  mine.  A  very  good 
man  —  good  enough  for  a  minister,  any  day,  aunt,  and  not 
so  stupid  as  good  people  generally  are,  either." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  engaged  to  him?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  that  is  to  say,  I  won't  be  to  anybody. 
This  is  an  insufferable  business  !  I  like  Mr.  Clayton,  be- 
cause he  can  let  me  alone,  don't  look  at  me  in  that  abom- 
inably delighted  way  all  the  time,  and  dance  about,  calling 


THE    LOYEES.  143 

mo  Nina  !  He  and  I  are  very  good  friends,  that 's  all.  I  'm 
not  going  to  hare  any  engagements  anywhere." 
"  Well,  Nina,  I'll  go  down,  and  you  make  haste." 
While  the  gentlemen  and  Aunt  Nesbit  were  waiting  in 
the  saloon,  Carson  made  himself  extremely  happy  and  at 
home.  It  was  a  large,  cool  apartment,  passing,  like  a  hall, 
completely  through  the  centre  of  the  house.  Long  French 
windows,  at  either  end,  opened  on  to  balconies.  The  pillars 
of  the  balconies  were  draped  and  garlanded  with  wreaths 
of  roses  now  in  full  bloom.  The  floor  of  the  room  was  the 
polished  mosaic  of  different  colors  to  which  we  have  for- 
merly alluded.  Over  the  mantel-piece  was  sculptured  in  oak 
the  Gordon  arms.  The  room  was  wainscoted  with  dark 
wood,  and  hung  with  several  fine  paintings,  by  Copley  and 
Stuart,  of  different  members  of  the  family.  A  grand  piano, 
lately  arrived  from  Xew  York,  was  the  most  modern-looking 
article  in  the  room.  AEost  of  the  furniture  was  of  the  heavy 
dark  mahogany,  of  an  antique  pattern.  Clayton  sat  by  the 
door,  still  admiring  the  avenue  of  oaks  which  were  to  be 
seen  across  the  waving  green  of  the  lawn. 

In  about  half  an  hour  Xina  reappeared  in  a  flossy  cloud 
of  muslin,  lace,  and  gauzy  ribbons.  Dress  was  one  of  those 
accomplishments  for  which  the  little  gypsy  had  a  natural  in- 
stinct ;  and,  without  any  apparent  thought,  she  always  fell 
into  that  kind  of  color  and  material  which  harmonized  with 
her  style  of  appearance  and  character.  There  was  always 
something  floating  and  buoyant  about  the  arrangement  of 
her  garments  and  drapery  ;  so  that  to  see  her  move  across 
the  floor  gave  one  an  airy  kind  of  sensation,  like  the  gam- 
bols of  thistle-down.  Her  brown  eyes  had  a  peculiar  re- 
semblance to  a  bird's  ;'  and  this  effect  was  increased  by  a 
twinkling  motion  of  the  head,  and  a  fluttering  habit  of  move- 
ment peculiar  to  herself:  so  that  when  she  swept  by  in 
rosy  gauzes,  and  laid  one  ungloved  hand  lightly  on  the 
piano,  she  seemed  to  Clayton  much  like  some  saucy  bird  — 
very  good  indeed  if  let  alone,  but  ready  to  fly  on  the  slight- 
est approach. 


144  THE    LOVERS. 

Clayton  had  the  rare  faculty  of  taking-  in  every  available 
point  of  observation,  without  appearing  to  stare. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  Nina,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  coming  towards 
her  with  a  most  delighted  air,  "  you  look  as  if  you  had  fallen 
out  of  a  rainbow  !  " 

Nina  turned  away  very  coolly,  and  began  arranging  her 
music. 

"  0,  that 's  right !  "  said  Carson  ;  "  give  us  one  of  your 
songs.  Sing  something  from  the  Favorita.  You  know  it's 
my  favorite  opera,"  said  he,  assuming  a  most  sentimental 
expression. 

"0,  I'm  entirely  out  of  practice  —  I  don't  sing  at  all. 
I  'm  sick  of  all  those  opera-songs  !  "  And  Nina  skimmed 
across  the  floor,  and  out  of  the  open  door  by  which  Clayton 
was  lounging,  and  began  busying  herself  amid  the  flowers 
that  wreathed  the  porch.  In  a  moment  Carson  was  at  her 
heels  ;  for  he  was  one  of  those  persons  who  seem  to  think 
it  a  duty  never  to  allow  any  one  to  be  quiet,  if  they  can  pos- 
sibly prevent  it. 

"  Have  you  ever  studied  the  language  of  flowers,  Nina  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  No,  I  don't  like  to  study  languages." 

"  You  know  the  signification  of'  a  full-blown  rose  ?  "  said 
he,  tenderly  presenting  her  with  one. 

Nina  took  the  rose,  coloring  with  vexation,  and  then, 
plucking  from  the  bush  a  rose  of  two  or  three  days'  bloom, 
whose  leaves  were  falling  out,  she  handed  it  to  him,  and 
said, 

"  Do  you  understand  the  signification  of  this?  " 

"  0,  you  have  made  an  unfortunate  selection  !  This  rose  is 
all  falling  to  pieces  !  "  said  Mr.  Carson,  innocently. 

"  So  I  observed,"  said  Nina,  turning  away  quickly  ;  then, 
making  one  of  her  darting  movements,  she  was  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  saloon  again,  just  as  the  waiter  announced  dinner. 

Clayton  rose  gravely,  and  offered  his  arm  to  Aunt  Nesbit ; 
and  Nina  found  herself  obliged  to  accept  the  delighted 
escort  of  Mr.  Carson,  who,   entirely  unperceiving,  was  in 


THE    LOVEES.  145 

the  briskest  possible  spirits,  and  established  himself  com- 
fortably between  Aunt  Nesbit  and  Nina. 

"  You  must  find  it  very  dull  here  —  very  barren  country, 
shockingly  so  !  What  do  you  find  to  interest  yourself 
in  ?  "  said  he. 

"Will  you  take  some  of  this  gumbo  ?  "  replied  Nina. 

"I  always  thought,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "it  was  a  good 
plan  for  girls  to  have  a  course  of  reading  marked  out  to 
them  when  they  left  school." 

"  0,  certainly,"  said  Carson.  "I  shall  be  happy  to  mark 
out  one  for  her.     I  we  done  it  for  several  young  ladies." 

At  this  moment  Nina  accidentally  happened  to  catch 
Clayton's  eye,  which  was  fixed  upon  Mr.  Carson  with  an  air 
of  quiet  amusement  greatly  disconcerting  to  her. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  "  I  have  no  opinion  of  making 
Hues  of  young  ladies  ;  but  still,  I  think,  Mrs.  Nesbit,  that  a 
little  useful  information  adds  greatly  to  their  charms.  Don't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Nesbit.  "  I  've  been  reading  Gibbon's 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  lately." 

'-'Yes,"  said  Nina,  "aunt's  been  busy  about  that  ever 
since  I  can  remember." 

"  That 's  a  very  nice  book,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  looking 
solemnly  at  Nina  ;  "  only,  Mrs.  Nesbit,  an't  you  afraid  of 
the  infidel  principle  ?  I  think,  in  forming  the  minds  of  the 
young,  you  know,  one  cannot  be  too  careful." 

"  Why,  he  struck  me  as  a  very  pious  writer  1  "  said  Aunt 
Nesbit,  innocently.  "  I  'm  sure,  he  makes  the  most  reli- 
gious reflections,  all  along.  I  liked  him  particularly  on  that 
account." 

It  seemed  to  Nina  that,  without  looking  at  Clayton,  she 
was  forced  to  meet  his  eye.  No  matter  whether  she  di- 
rected her  attention  to  the  asparagus  or  the  potatoes,  it 
was  her  fatality  always  to  end  by  a  rencounter  with  his  eye  ; 
and  she  saw,  for  some  reason  or  other,  the  conversation  was 
extremely  amusing  to  him. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Nina,  "I  don't  know  what  sort  of 
13 


146  THE    LOVEES. 

principles  Aunt  Nesbit's  history,  there,  has  ;  but  one  thing 
I 'm  pretty  certain  of, — that/'m  not  in  any  danger  from 
any  such  thick,  close-printecl,  old,  stupid-looking  books  as 
that.  I  hate  reading,  and  I  don't  intend  to  have  my  mind 
formed  ;  so  that  nobody  need  trouble  themselves  to  mark 
out  courses  for  me  !  What  is  it  to  me  what  all  these  old 
empires  have  been,  a  hundred  years  ago  ?  It  is  as  much  as 
I  can  do  to  attend  to  what  is  going  on  now." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "  1 've  always  regretted 
that  I  neglected  the  cultivation  of  my  mind  when  I  was 
young.  I  was  like  Nina,  here,  immersed  in  vanity  and 
folly." 

"  People  always  talk,"  said  Nina,  reddening,  "  as  if  there 
was  but  one  kind  of  vanity  and  folly  in  the  world.  I  think 
there  can  be  as  much  learned  vanity  and  folly  as  we  girls 
have  !  "  And  she  looked  at  Clayton  indignantly,  as  she  saw 
him  laughing. 

"  I  agree  with  Miss  Gordon,  entirely.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  very  stupid  respectable  trifling,  which  people  pur- 
sue under  the  head  of  courses  of  reading,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  don't  wonder  that  most  compends  of  history  which  are 
studied  in  schools  should  inspire  any  lively  young  lady 
with  a  life-long  horror,  not  only  of  history,  but  of  reading." 

"Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Nina,  with  a  look  of  inexpress- 
ible relief. 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Claj^ton.  "  And  it  would  have  been 
a  very  good  thing  for  many  of  our  historians,  if  they  had 
been  obliged  to  have  shaped  their  histories  so  that  they 
would  interest  a  lively  school-girl.  We  literary  men,  then, 
would  have  found  less  sleepy  reading.  There  is  no  reason 
why  a  young  lady,  who  would  sit  up  all  night  reading  a 
novel,  should  not  be  made  to  sit  up  all  night  with  a  history. 
I  '11  venture  to  say  there  's  no  romance  can  come  up  to  the 
gorgeousness  and  splendor,  and  the  dramatic  power,  of 
things  that  really  have  happened.  All  that 's  wanting  is  to 
have  it  set  before  us  with  an  air  of  reality." 


THE    LOVERS.  147 

"But,  then,"  said  Nina,  "  you  'd  have  to  make  the  his- 
tory into  a  romance." 

"Well,  a  good  historical  romance  is  generally  truer  than 
a  dull  history  ;  because  it  gives  some  sort  of  conception  of 
the  truth  ;  whereas,  the  dull  history  gives  none." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Nina,  "I  '11  confess,  now,  that  about 
all  the  history  I  do  know  has  been  got  from  Walter  Scott's 
novels,  I  always  told  our  history-teacher  so  ;  but  she  in- 
sisted upon  it  that  it  was  very  dangerous  reading." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Nesbit,  "I  've  a  great  horror 
of  novel-reading,  particularly  for  young  ladies.  It  did  me 
a  great  deal  of  harm  when  I  was  young.  It  dissipates  the 
mind  ;  it  gives  false  views  of  life." 

"  0,  law  !  "  said  Nina.  "  We  used  to  write  compositior.3 
about  that,  and  I  've  got  it  all  by  heart  —  how  it  raises 
false  expectations,  and  leads  people  to  pursue  phantoms, 
rainbows,  and  meteors,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  !  " 

"And  yet,"  said  Clayton,  "all  these  objections  would 
lie  against  perfectly  true  history,  and  the  more  so  just  in 
proportion  to  its  truth.  If  the  history  of  Napoleon  Bon- 
aparte were  graphically  and  minutely  given,  it  would  lie 
open  to  the  very  same  objections.  It  would  produce  the 
very  same  cravings  for  something  out  of  the  commonplace 
course  of  life.  There  would  be  the  same  dazzling  mixture 
of  bad  and  good  qualities  in  the  hero,  and  the  same  lassi- 
tude and  exhaustion  after  the  story  was  finished.  And  com- 
mon history  does  not  do  this,  simply  because  it  is  not  true 
—  does  not  produce  a  vivid  impression  of  the  reality  as  it 
happened." 

Aunt  Nesbit  only  got  an  indefinite  impression,  from  this 
harangue,  that  Clayton  was  defending  novel-reading,  and 
felt  herself  called  to  employ  her  own  peculiar  line  of  rea- 
soning to  meet  it,  which  consisted  in  saying  the  same  thing 
over  and  over,  at  regular  intervals,  without  appearing  to  hear 
or  notice  anything  said  in  reply.  Accordingly,  she  now 
drew  herself  up,  with  a  slightly  virtuous  air,  and  said  to  Mr. 
Clayton, 


148  THE   LOVEES. 

"  I  must  say,  after  all,  that  I  don't  approve  of  novel-read- 
ing. It  gives  false  views  of  life,  and  disgusts  young  people 
with  their  duties." 

"  I  was  only  showing,  madam,  that  the  same  objection 
would  apply  to  the  best-written  history,"  said  Clayton. 

"  I  think  novel-reading  does  a  great  deal  of  harm,"  re- 
joined Aunt  Nesbit.  "I  never  allow  myself  to  read  any 
work  of  fiction.     I  ;m  principled  against  it." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Nina,  "  I  wish  I  could  find  that  kind 
of  history  you  are  speaking  of;  I  believe  I  could  read  that." 

"  'T  would  be  very  interesting  history,  certainly,"  said 
Mr.  Carson.  "  I  should  think  it  would  prove  a  very  charm- 
ing mode  of  writing.  I  wonder  somebody  don't  produce 
cue." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "  I  confine  myself  en- 
tirely to  what  is  practically  useful.  Useful  information  is 
all  I  desire." 

"Well,  I  suppose,  then,  I  'm  very  wicked,"  said  Nina  ; 
"but  I  don't  like  anything  useful.  Why,  I  've  sometimes 
thought,  when  I  've  been  in  the  garden,  that  the  summer- 
savory,  sage,  and  sweet-majoram,  were  just  as  pretty  as 
many  other  flowers  ;  and  I  could  n't  see  any  reason  why  I 
should  n't  like  a  sprig  of  one  of  them  for  a  bouquet,  except 
that  I  've  seen  them  used  so  much  for  stuffing  turkeys. 
Well,  now,  that  seems  very  bad  of  me,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "that  Rose  has 
been  putting  sage  into  this  turkey  again,  after  all  that  I 
said  to  her.     I  believe  she  does  it  on  purpose." 

At  this  moment  Harry  appeared  at  the  door,  and  requested 
to  speak  to  Nina. 

After  a  few  moments'  whispered  conversation,  she  came 
back  to  the  table,  apparently  disconcerted. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry —  so  very  sorry  !  "  she  said.  "  Harry  has 
been  riding  all  round  the  country  to  find  a  minister  to  attend 
the  funeral,  this  evening.  It  will  be  such  a  disappointment 
to  that  poor  fellow  !  You  know  the  negroes  think  so  much 
of  having  prayers  at  the  grave  !  "  . 


THE    LOVERS.  149 

"  If  no  one  else  can  be  found  to  read  prayers,  I  will," 
said  Clayton. 

"  0,  thank  you  !  will  you,  indeed  ?  "  said  Nina.  "  I  'm. 
glad  of  it,  now,  for  poor  Tiff's  sake.  The  coach  will  be  out 
at  five  o'clock,  and  we  '11  ride  over  together,  and  make  as 
much  of  a  party  as  we  can." 


"  Why,  child,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit  to  Nina,  after  they  re- 
turned to  the  parlor,  "  I  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Clayton  was 
an  Episcopalian." 

"  He  is  n't,"  said  Nina.  "He  and  his  family  all  attend 
the  Presbyterian  church." 

"  How  strange  that  he  should  offer  to  read  prayers  !  "  said 
Aunt  Nesbit.  "  I  don't  approve  of  such  things,  for  my 
part." 

"  Such  things  as  what  ?  " 

"  Countenancing  Episcopal  errors.  If  we  are  right,  they 
are  wrong,  and  we  ought  not  to  countenance  them." 

"  But,  aunt,  the  burial-service  is  beautiful." 

"  Don't  approve  of  it !  "  said  Aunt  Nesbit. 

"  Why,  you  know,  as  Clayton  is  n't  a  minister,  he  would 
not  feel  like  making  an  extempore  prayer." 

"Shows   great   looseness    of  religious   principle,"    said 
Aunt  Nesbit.     "  Don't  approve  of  it !  " 
13* 


CHAPTER    XII. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

The  golden  arrows  of  the  setting  sun  were  shooting 
hither  and  thither  through  the  pine  woods,  glorifying  what- 
ever they  touched  with  a  life  not  its  own.  A  chorus  of 
birds  were  pouring  out  an  evening  melody,  when  a  little 
company  stood  around  an  open  grave.  With  instinctive 
care  for  the  feeling  of  the  scene,  Nina  had  arrayed  herself 
in  a  black  silk  dress,  and  plain  straw  bonnet  with  black 
ribbon — a  mark  of  respect  to  the  deceased  remembered  and 
narrated  by  Tiff  for  many  a  year  after. 

Cripps  stood  by  the  head  of  the  grave,  with  that  hopeless, 
imbecile  expression  with  which  a  nature  wholly  gross  and 
animal  often  contemplates  the  symbols  of  the  close  of  mor- 
tal existence.  Tiff  stood  by  the  side  of  the  grave,  his  white 
hat  conspicuously  draped  with  black  crape,  and  a  deep  weed 
of  black  upon  his  arm.  The  baby,  wrapped  in  an  old  black 
shawl,  was  closely  fondled  in  his  bosom,  while  the  two  chil- 
dren stood  weeping  bitterly  at  his  side.  The  other  side  of 
the  grave  stood  Mr.  Carson  and  Mr.  Clayton,  while  Milly, 
Harry,  and  several  plantation  slaves,  were  in  a  group 
behind. 

The  coffin  had  been  opened,  that  all  might  take  that  last 
look,  so  coveted,  yet  so  hopeless,  which  the  human  heart 
will  claim  on  the  very  verge  of  the  grave.  It  was  but  a 
moment  since  the  coffin  had  been  closed  ;  and  the  burst  of 
grief  which  shook  the  children  was  caused  by  that  last 
farewell.  As  Clayton,  in  a  musical  voice,  pronounced  the 
words  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  Nina  wept  and 


EXPLANATIONS.  151 

sobbed  as  if  the  grief  bad.  been  her  own  ;  nor  did  she  cease 
to  -weep  during-  the  whole  touching  service.  It  was  the 
same  impulsive  nature  which  made  her  so  gay  in  other 
scenes  that  made  her  so  sympathetic  here.  When  the  whole 
was  over,  she  kissed  the  children,  and,  shaking  hands  with 
old  Tiff,  promised  to  come  and  sec  them  on  the  morrow. 
After  which,  Clayton  led  her  to  the  carriage,  into  which  he 
and  Carson  followed  her. 

"  Upon  my  word/'  said  Carson,  briskly,  "this  has  been 
quite  solemn  !  Really,  a  very  interesting  funeral,  indeed  ! 
I  was  delighted  with  the  effect  of  our  church  service  :  in 
such  a  romantic  place,  too  !  ;T  was  really  very  interesting. 
It  pleases  me,  also,  to  see  young  ladies  in  your  station, 
Nina,  interest  themselves  in  the  humble  concerns  of  the 
poor.  If  young  ladies  knew  how  much  more  attractive  it 
made  them  to  show  a  charitable  spirit,  they  would  cultivate 
it  more.  Singular-looking  person,  that  old  negro  !  Seems 
to  be  a  good  creature.  Interesting  children,  too  !  I  should 
think  the  woman  must  have  been  pretty  when  she  was 
young.  Seen  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  no  doubt,  poor  thing  ! 
It 's  a  comfort  to  hope  she  is  better  off  now." 

Nina  was  filled  with  indignation  at  this  monologue ; 
not  considering  that  the  man  was  giving  the  very  best  he 
had  in  him,  and  laboring  assiduously  at  what  he  considered 
his  vocation,  the  prevention  of  half  an  hour  of  silence  in 
any  spot  of  earth  where  he  could  possibly  make  himself 
heard.  The  same  excitement  which  made  Nina  cry  made 
him  talk.  But  he  was  not  content  with  talking,  but  in- 
sisted upon  asking  Nina,  every  moment,  if  she  did  n't  think 
it  an  interesting  occasion,  and  if  she  had  not  been  much 
impressed. 

"  I  don't  feel  like  talking,  Mr.  Carson,"  said  Nina. 

"0  —  ah  —  yes,  indeed  !  You  've  been  so  deeply  affected 
—  yes.  Naturally  does  incline  one  to  silence.  Understand 
your  feelings  perfectly.  Very  gratifying  to  me  to  see  you 
take  such  a  deep  interest  in  your  fellow-creatures." 

Nina  could  have  pushed  him  out  of  the  carriage. 


152  EXPLANATIONS. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Carson,  "  I  think  we  don't 
reflect  enough  about  this  kind  of  things — I  positively 
don't.  It  really  is  useful  sometimes  to  have  one's  thoughts 
turned  in  this  direction.     It  does  us  good." 

Thus  glibly  did  Carson  proceed  to  talk  away  the  impres- 
sion of  the  whole  scene  they  had  witnessed.  Long  before 
the  carriage  reached  home,  Nina  had  forgotten  all  her 
sympathy  in  a  tumult  of  vexation.  She  discovered  an 
increasing  difficulty  in  making  Carson  understand,  by 
any  degree  of  coolness,  that  he  was  not  acceptable  ;  and 
saw  nothing  before  her  but  explanations  in  the  very  plainest 
terms,  mortifying  and  humiliating  as  that  might  be.  His 
perfect  self-complacent  ease,  and  the  air  with  which  he 
constantly  seemed  to  appropriate  her  as  something  which 
of  right  belonged  to  himself,  filled  her  with  vexation.  But 
yet  her  conscience  told  her  that  she  had  brought  it  upon 
herself. 

"  I  won't  bear  this  another  hour !  "  she  said  to  herself,  as 
she  ascended  the  steps  toward  the  parlor.  "  All  this  before 
Clayton,  too  !  What  must  he  think  of  me  ?  "  But  they 
found  tea  upon  the  table,  and  Aunt  Nesbit  waiting. 

"It's  a  pity,  madam,  you  were  not  with  us.  Such  an 
interesting  time  !  "  said  Mr.  Carson,  launching,  with  great 
volubility,  into  the  tide  of  discourse. 

"  It  would  n't  have  done  for  me  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Nes- 
bit.  "  Being  out  when  the  dew  falls,  always  brings  on 
hoarseness.  I  have  been  troubled  in  that  way  these  two  or 
three  years.  Now  I  have  to  be  very  careful.  Then  I  'm 
timid  about  riding  in  a  carriage  with  John's  driving." 

"  I  was  amused  enough,"  said  Nina,  "with  Old  Hun- 
dred's indignation  at  having  to  get  out  the  carriage  and 
horses  to  go  over  to  what  he  called  a  '  cracker  funeral.'  I 
really  believe,  if  he  could  have  upset  us  without  hurting 
himself,  he  would  have  done  it." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "  I  hope  that  family 
will  move  off  before  long.  It 's  very  disagreeable  having 
such  people  round." 


EXPLANATIONS.  153 

"  The  children  look  very  pretty  and  bright/'  said  Nina. 

"  0,  there  's  no  hope  for  them  !  They'll  grow  up  and  be 
just  like  their  parents.  I  Ve  seen  that  sort  of  people  all 
through  and  through.  I  don't  wish  them  any  evil ;  only  I 
don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  them  !  " 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Nina,  "  I  'm  sorry  for  them.  I  won- 
der why  the  legislature,  or  somebody,  don't  have  schools, 
as  they  do  up  in  New  York  State  ?  There  is  n't  anywhere 
there  where  children  can't  go  to  school,  if  they  wish  to. 
Besides,  aunt,  these  children  really  came  from  an  old  fam- 
ily in  Virginia.  Their  old  servant-man  says  that  their 
mother  was  a  Peyton." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  They  '11  lie  —  all  of  them. 
They  always  do." 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  I  shall  do  something  for  these  chil- 
dren, at  any  rate." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Nina.  It  shows  a  very  excel- 
lent spirit  in  you,"  said  Mr.  Carson.  "  You  '11  always  find 
me  ready  to  encourage  everything  of  that  sort." 

Nina  frowned,  and  looked  indignant.  But  to  no  purpose. 
Mr.  Carson  went  on  remorselessly  with  his  really  good- 
hearted  rattle,  till  Nina,  at  last,  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  How  dreadfully  warm  this  room  is  !  "  said  she,  spring- 
ing up.     "  Come,  let's  go  back  into  the  parlor.' 

Nina  was  as  much  annoyed  at  Clayton's  silence,  and  his 
quiet,  observant  reserve,  as  with  Carson's  forth-putting. 
Eising  from  table,  she  passed  on  before  the  company,  with  a 
half-flying  trip,  into  the  hall,  which  lay  now  cool,  calm, 
and  breezy,  in  the  twilight,  with  the  odor  of  the  pillar-roses 
floating  in  at  the  window.  The  pale  white  moon,  set  in 
the  rosy  belt  of  the  evening  sky,  looked  in  at  the  open  door. 
Nina  would  have  given  all  the  world  to  be  still ;  but,  well 
aware  that  stillness  was  out  of  the  question,  she  deter- 
mined to  select  her  own  noise  ;  and,  sitting  down  at  the 
piano,  began  playing  very  fast,  in  a  rapid,  restless,  discon- 
nected manner.  Clayton  threw  himself  on  a  lounge  by  the 
open    door ;    while    Carson   busied   himself  fluttering    the 


154  EXPLANATIONS. 

music,  opening  and  shutting  music-books,  and  interspers- 
ing- running  commentaries  and  notes  of  admiration  on  the 
playing. 

At  last,  as  if  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  she  rose,  with  a 
very  decided  air,  from  the  piano,  and,  facing  about  towards 
Mr.  Carson,  said  : 

"  It  looks  very  beautifully  out  doors.  Don't  you  want  to 
come  out  ?  There  's  a  point  of  view  at  the  end  of  one  of 
the  paths,  where  the  moon  looks  on  the  water,  that  I  should 
like  to  show  you." 

"  Won't  you  catch  cold,  Nina  ?  "  said  Aunt  Nesbit. 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  never  catch  cold,"  said  Nina,  springing 
into  the  porch,  and  taking  the  delighted  Mr.  Carson's  arm. 
And  away  she  went  with  him,  with  almost  a  skip  and  a 
jump,  leaving  Clayton  tete-a-tete  with  Aunt  Nesbit. 

Nina  went  so  fast  that  her  attendant  was  almost  out  of 
breath.  They  reached  a  little  knoll,  and  there  Nina  stopped 
suddenly,  and  said,  "  Look  here,  Mr.  Carson  ;  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

' '  I  should  be  delighted,  my  dear  Nina  !  1 7m  perfectly 
charmed  !  " 

"No  —  no  —  if  you  please  —  don't!"  said  Nina,  putting 
up  her  hand  to  stop  him.  "Just  wait  till  you  hear  what  I 
have  to  say.  I  believe  you  did  not  get  a  letter  which  I 
wrote  you  a  few  days  ago,  did  you  ?  " 

"  A  letter  !  no,  indeed.     How  unfortunate  !  " 

"  Very  unfortunate  for  me  I  "  said  Nina  ;  "  and  for  you, 
too.  Because,  if  you  had,  it  would  have  saved  you  and 
me  the  trouble  of  this  interview.  I  wrote  that  letter  to  tell 
you,  Mr.  Carson,  that  I  cannot  think  of  such  a  thing  as  an 
engagement  with  you  !  That  I  've  acted  very  wrong  and 
very  foolishly  ;  but  that  I  cannot  do  it.  In  New  York, 
where  everybody  and  everything  seemed  to  be  trifling,  and 
where  the  girls  all  trifled  with  these  things,  I  was  engaged 
— just  for  a  frolic  —  nothing  more.  I  had  no  idea  what  it 
would  amount  to  ;  no  idea  what  I  was  saying,  nor  how  I 
should  feel  afterwards.     But,  every  hour  since  I  've  been 


EXPLANATIONS.  155 

home,  here,  since  I  've  been  so  much  alone,  has  made  me 
feel  how  wrong  it  is.  Now,  I  'm  very  sorry,  I  'm  sure.  But 
I  must  speak  the  truth,  this  time.  But  it  is  —  I  can't  tell 
you  how  —  disagreeable  to  me  to  have  you  treat  me  as  you 
have  since  you  've  been  here  !  " 

"Miss  Gordon!"  said  Mr.  Carson,  "I  am  positively 
astonished  !     I  —  I  don't  know  what  to  think  !  " 

"Well,  I  only  want  you  to  think  that  I  am  in  earnest; 
and  that,  though  I  can  like  you  very  well  as  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  shall  always  wish  you  well,  yet  anything  else  is 
just  as  far  out  of  the  question  as  that  moon  there  is  from 
us.  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  that  I  've  made  you  all 
this  trouble.  I  really  am,"  said  she,  good-naturedly  ;  "but 
please  now  to  understand  how  we  stand."  She  turned, 
and  tripped  away. 

"  There  !  "  said  she,  to  herself,  "  at  any  rate,  I  've  done 
one  thing  !  " 

Mr.  Carson  stood  still,  gradually  recovering  from  the 
stupor  into  which  this  communication  had  thrown  him.  He 
stretched  himself,  rubbed  his  eyes,  took  out  his  watch  and 
looked  at  it,  and  then  began  walking  off  with  a  very  sober 
pace  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Nina.  Happily-consti- 
tuted mortal  that  he  was,  nothing  ever  could  be  subtracted 
from  his  sum  of  complacence  that  could  not  be  easily  bal- 
anced by  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  consideration.  The 
walk  through  the  shrubbery  in  which  he  was  engaged  was 
an  extremely  pretty  one,  and  wound  along  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  through  many  picturesque  points  of  view,  and 
finally  led  again  to  the  house  by  another  approach.  During 
the  course  of  this  walk  Mr.  Carson  had  settled  the  whole 
question  for  himself.  In  the  first  place,  he  repeated  the 
comfortable  old  proverb,  that  there  wore  as  good  fish  in 
the  sea  as  ever  were  caught.  In  the  second  place,  as  Mr. 
Carson  was  a  shrewd  business-man,  it  occurred  to  him,  in 
this  connection,  that  the  plantation  was  rather  run  clown, 
and  not  a  profitable  acquisition.  And,  in  the  third  place, 
contemplating  Nina  as  the  fox  of  old  did  his  bunch  of  sour 


156  EXPLANATIONS. 

grapes,  he  began  to  remember  that,  after  all,  she  was  dressy, 
expensive,  and  extravagant.  Then,  as  he  did  not  want 
in  that  imperturbable  good-nature  which  belongs  to  a  very 
shallow  capability  of  feeling,  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
should  n't  like  the  girl  a  bit  the  less.  In  fact,  when  he 
thought  of  his  own  fine  fortune,  his  house  in  New  York, 
and  all  the  accessories  which  went  to  make  up  himself,  he 
considered  her,  on  the  whole,  as  an  object  of  pity ;  and,  by 
the  time  that  he  ascended  the  balcony  steps  again,  he  was 
in  as  charitable  and  Christian  a  frame  as  any  rejected  suitor 
could  desire. 

He  entered  the  drawing-room.  Aunt  Nesbit  had  ordered 
candles,  and  was  sitting  up  with  her  gloves  on,  alone. 
What  had  transpired  during  his  walk,  he  did  not  know ;  but 
we  will  take  our  readers  into  confidence. 

Nina  returned  to  the  house  with  the  same  decided  air 
with  which  she  went  out,  and  awakened  Mr.  Clayton  from  a 
revery  with  a  brisk  little  tap  of  her  fan  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  up  here  with  me,"  she  said,  "  and  look  out  of  the 
library  window,  and  see  this  moonlight." 

And  up  she  went,  over  the  old  oaken  staircase,  stopping 
on  each  landing  ;  and,  beckoning  to  Clayton,  with  a  whimsi- 
cally authoritative  gesture,  threw  open  the  door  of  a  large, 
black-wainscoted  room,  and  ushered  him  in.  The  room  lay 
just  above  the  one  where  they  had  been  sitting,  and,  like 
that,  opened  on  to  the  veranda  by  long-sashed  windows, 
through  which,  at  the  present  moment,  a  flood  of  moonlight 
was  pouring.  A  large  mahogany  writing-table,  covered 
with  papers,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  the  moon 
shone  in  so  brightly  that  the  pattern  of  the  bronze  inkstand, 
and  the  color  of  the  wafers  and  sealing-wax,  were  plainly 
revealed.  The  window  commanded  a  splendid  view  of  the 
river  over  the  distant  tree-tops,  as  it  lay  shimmering  and 
glittering  in  the  moonlight. 

"Isn't  that  a  beautiful  sight  ?  "  said  Nina,  in  a  hurried 
voice. 

"  Very  beautiful !  "  said  Clayton,  sitting  down  in  the  large 


EXPLANATIONS.  157 

lounging-chair  before  the  window,  and  looking  out  with  the 
abstracted  air  which  was  habitual  with  him. 

After  a  moment's  thought,  Nina  added,  with  a  sudden 
effort, 

"  But,  after  all,  that  was  not  what  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  about.  I  wanted  to  see  you  somewhere,  and  say  a  few 
words  which  it  seems  to  me  it  is  due  to  you  that  I  should 
say.  I  got  your  last  letter,  and  I  'm  sure  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  your  sister  for  all  the  kind  things  she  says  ;  but  I 
think  you  must  have  been  astonished  at  what  you  have  seen 
since  you  have  been  here." 

"Astonished  at  what  1  "  said  Clayton,  quietly. 

"At  Mr.  Carson's  manners  towards  me." 

"  I  have  not  been  astonished  at  all,"  replied  Clayton, 
quietly. 

"  I  think,  at  all  events,"  said  Nina,  "  I  think  it  is  no  more 
than  honorable  that  I  should  tell  you  exactly  how  things 
have  stood.  Mr.  Carson  has  thought  that  he  had  a  right  to 
me  and  mine  ;  and  I  was  so  foolish  as  to  give  him  reason  to 
think  so.  The  fact  is,  that  I  have  been  making  a  game  of 
life,  and  saying  and  doing  anything  and  everything  that 
came  into  my  head,  just  for  frolic.  It  don't  seem  to  me 
that  there  has  been  anything  serious  or  real  about  me,  until 
very  lately.  Somehow,  my  acquaintance  with  you  has 
made  things  seem  more  real  to  me  than  they  ever  did  before  ; 
and  it  seems  to  me  now  perfectly  incredible,  the  way  we 
girls  used  to  play  and  trifle  with  everything  in  the  world. 
Just  for  sport,  I  was  engaged  to  that  man  ;  just  for  sport, 
too,  I  have  been  engaged  to  another  one." 

"And,"  said  Clayton,  breaking  the  silence,  "just  for 
sport,  have  you  been  engaged  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Nina,  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  "not  in 
sport,  certainly ;  but,  yet,  not  enough  in  earnest.  I  think 
I  am  about  half  waked  up.  I  don't  know  myself.  I  don't 
know  where  or  what  I  am,  and  I  want  to  go  back  into  that 
thoughtless  d  ;eam.  I  do  really  think  it 's  too  hard  to  take 
up  the  responsibility  of  living  in  good  earnest.  Now,  it 
14 


158  EXPLANATIONS. 

seems  to  me  just  this,  —  that  I  cannot  be  bound  to  anybody. 
I  want  to  be  free.  I  have  positively  broken  all  connection 
with  Mr.  Carson  ;  I  have  broken  with  another  one,  and  I 
wish  — ■ " 

"  To  break  with  me  ?  "  said  Clayton. 

"  I  don't  really  know  as  I  can  say  what  I  do  wish.  It  is 
a  very  different  thing  from  any  of  the  others,  but  there  's  a 
feeling-  of  dread,  and  responsibility,  and  constraint,  about  it ; 
and,  though  I  think  I  should  feel  very  lonesome  now  with- 
out you,  and  though  I  like  to  get  your  letters,  yet  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  cannot  be  engaged,  —  that  is  a  most  dreadful 
feeling  to  me." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Clayton,  "  if  that  is  all,  make 
yourself  easy.  There  's  no  occasion  for  our  being  engaged. 
If  you  can  enjoy  being  with  me  and  writing  to  me,  why,  do 
it  in  the  freest  way,  and  to-morrow  shall  take  care  for,  the 
things  of  itself.  You  shall  say  what  you  please,  do  what 
you  please,  write  when  you  please,  and  not  write  when  you 
please,  and  have  as  many  or  as  few  letters  as  you  like. 
There  can  be  no  true  love  without  liberty." 

"0,  I'm  sure  I'm  much  obliged  to  you!"  said  Nina, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "And,  now,  do  you  know,  I  like  your 
sister's  postscript  very  much,  but  I  can't  tell  what  it  is  in 
it ;  for  the  language  is  as  kind  as  can  be,  that  would  give 
me  the  impression  that  she  is  one  of  those  very  proper  kind 
of  people,  that  would  be  dreadfully  shocked  if  she  knew  of 
all  my  goings  on  in  New  York." 

Clayton  could  hardly  help  laughing  at  the  instinctive 
sagacity  of  this  remark. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  "where  you  could 
have  seen  that,  —  in  so  short  a  postscript,  too." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  never  take  anybody's  hand-writing  into 
my  hand,  that  I  don't  feel  an  idea  of  them  come  over  me, 
just  as  you  have  when  you  see  people  ?  And  that  idea  came 
over  me  when  I  read  your  sister's  letter." 

"  Well,  Nina,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  sister  Anne  is  a  little 
bit  conventional  —  a  little  set  in  her  ways  ;  but,  after  all,  a 


EXPLANATIONS.  159 

large-hearted,  warm-hearted  woman.  You  would  like  each 
other,  I  know." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Nina.  "  I  am  very  apt 
to  shock  proper  people.  Somehow  or  other,  they  have  a 
faculty  of  making  me  contrary." 

"  Well,  but,  you  see,  Anne  isn't  merely  a  conventional 
person  ;  there  's  only  the  slightest  crust  of  conventionality, 
and  a  real  warm  heart  under  it." 

"Whereas,"  said  Nina,  "most  conventional  people  are 
like  a  shallow  river,  frozen  to  the  bottom.  But,  now,  really, 
I  should  like  very  much  to  have  your  sister  come  and  visit 
us,  if  I  could  think  that  she  would  come  as  any  other  friend  ; 
but,  you  know,  it  is  n't  very  agreeable  to  have  anybody 
come  to  look  one  over  to  see  if  one  will  do." 

Clayton  laughed  at  the  naive,  undisguised  frankness  of 
this  speech. 

"  You  see,"  said  Nina,  "though  I  'm  nothing  but  an  ig- 
norant school-girl,  I  'in  as  proud  as  if  I  had  everything  to 
be  proud  of.  Now,  do  you  know,  I  don't  much  like  writing 
to  your  sister,  because  I  don't  think  I  write  very  good  let- 
ters !     I  never  could  sit  still  long  enough  to  write." 

"  Write  exactly  as  you  talk,"  said  Clayton.  "  Say  just 
what  comes  into  your  head,  just  as  you  would  talk  it.  I 
hope  you  will  do  that  much,  for  it  will  be  very  dull  writing 
all  on  one  side." 

"Well,"  said  Nina,  rising,  with  animation,  "now,  Mr. 
Edward  Clayton,  if  we  have  settled  about  this  moonlight, 
we  may  as  well  go  down  into  the  parlor,  where  Aunt  Nesbit 
and  Mr.  Carson  are  tete-a-tete." 

"  Poor  Carson  !  "  said  Clayton. 

"  0,  don't  pity  him  !  Good  soul !  he  's  a  man  that  one 
night's  rest  would  bring  round  from  anything  in  creation. 
He  's  so  thoroughly  good-natured !  Besides,  1  shall  like 
him  better,  now.  He  did  not  use  to  seem  to  me  so  intrusive 
and  disagreeable.  We  girls  used  to  like  him  very  well,  he 
was  such  a  comfortable,  easy-tempered,  agreeable  creature, 
always  brisk  and  in  spirits,  and  knowing  everything  that 


160  EXPLANATIONS. 

went  on.  But  he  is  one  of  those  men  that  I  think  would  be 
really  insufferable,  if  anything  serious  were  the  matter  with 
one.  Now,  you  heard  how  he  talked,  coming  from  that 
funeral !  Do  you  know,  that  if  he  had  been  coming  from 
my  funeral,  it  would  have  been  just  so  ? " 

"  0,  no,  not  quite  so  bad,"  said  Clayton. 

"  Indeed  he  is/7  said  Nina.  "  That  man  !  why,  he  just  puts 
me  in  mind  of  one  of  these  brisk  blue-flies,  whirring  and 
whisking  about,  marching  over  pages  of  books,  and  alight- 
ing on  all  sorts  of  things.  When  he  puts  on  that  grave 
look,  and  begins  to  talk  about  serious  things,  he  actually 
looks  to  me  just  as  a  fly  does  when  he  stands  brushing  his 
wings  on  a  Bible  !  But,  come,  let 's  go  down  to  the  good 
soul." 

Down  they  went,  and  Nina  seemed  like  a  person  enfran- 
chised. Never  had  she  seemed  more  universally  gracious. 
She  was  chatty  and  conversable  with  Carson,  and  sang  over 
for  him  all  her  old  opera-songs,  with  the  better  grace  that 
she  saw  that  Clayton  was  listening  intently. 

As  they  were  sitting  and  conversing  together,  the  sound 
of  horse's  heels  was  heard  coming  up  the  avenue. 

"Who  can  that  be,  this  time  of  night?"  said  Nina, 
springing  to  the  door,  and  looking  out. 

She  saw  Harry  hastening  in  advance  to  meet  her,  and 
ran  down  the  veranda  steps  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Harry,  who  is  coming  ?  " 

"  Miss  Nina,  it 's  Master  Tom,"  said  Harry,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Tom  !  0,  mercy !  "  said  Nina,  in  a  voice  of  apprehen- 
sion.    "  What  sent  him  here,  now  ?  " 

"  What  sends  him  anywhere  ?  "  said  Harry. 

Nina  reascended  the  steps,  and  stood  looking  apprehen- 
sively towards  the  horseman,  who  approached  every  moment 
nearer.  Harry  came  up  on  the  veranda,  and  stood  a  little 
behind  her.  In  a  few  moments  the  horse  was  up  before  the 
steps. 


EXPLANATIONS.  161 

"  Hallo,  there  !  "  said  the  rider.  "  Come,  take  my  horse, 
you  rascal  !  " 

Harry  remained  perfectly  still,  put  his  arms  by  his  side, 
and  stood  with  a  frowning  expression  on  his  forehead. 

"  Don't  you  hear  ?  "  said  the  horseman,  throwing  himself 
off,  with  an  oath.    "  Come  here,  boy,  and  take  my  horse  !  " 

"  For  pity's  sake,"  said  Nina,  turning  and  looking  in  Har- 
ry's face,  "  don't  have  a  scene  here  !  Do  take  his  horse, 
quick  !     Anything  to  keep  him  quiet !  " 

With  a  sudden  start,  Harry  went  down  the  steps,  and 
took  the  bridle  from  the  hand  of  the  newly-arrived  in  silence. 

The  horseman  sprang  up  the  steps. 

"Hallo,  Nin,  is  this  you?"  And  Nina  felt  herself 
roughly  seized  in  the  arms  of  a  shaggy  great-coat,  and 
kissed  by  lips  smelling  of  brandy  and  tobacco.  She  faintly 
said,  as  she  disengaged  herself, 

"  Tom,  is  it  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  !  Who  did  you  think  it  was  ?  Devilish 
glad  to  see  me,  an't  you  ?  Suppose  you  was  in  hopes  I 
would  n't  come  !  " 

"  Hush,  Tom,  do  !  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  There  are 
gentlemen  in  there  ;  don't  speak  so  loud  !  " 

"  Some  of  your  beaux,  hey  ?  Well,  I  am  as  good  a  fel- 
low as  any  of  'em  !  Free  country,  I  hope  !  No,  I  an't  go- 
ing to  whisper,  for  any  of  them.  So  now,  Nin  —  If  there 
isn't  old  Starchy,  to  be  sure  J"  said  he,  as  Aunt  Nesbit 
came  to  the  door.     "  Hallo,  old  girl,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"Thomas  !•"  said  Mrs.  Nesbit,  softly,  "Thomas  !  " 

"  None  of  your  Thomasing  me,  you  old  pussy-cat !  Don't 
you  be  telling  me,  neither,  to  hush  !  I  won't  hush,  neither  ! 
I  know  what  I  am  about,  I  guess  !  It 's  my  house,  as  much 
as  it  is  Nin's,  and  I  'm  going  to  do  as  I  have  a  mind  to 
here  !  I  an't  going  to  have  my  mouth  shut  on  account  of 
her  beaux  !  So,  clear  out,  I  tell  you,  and  let  me  come  in  !  " 
and  Aunt  Nesbit  gave  back,  He  pushed  his  way  into  the 
apartment. 
•  He  was  a  young  man,  about  twenty-five  years  old,  who 
14* 


162  EXPLANATIONS. 

evidently  had  once  possessed  advantages  of  face  and  figure  ; 
but  every  outline  in  the  face  was  bloated  and  rendered  un- 
meaning by  habits  of  constant  intemperance.  ITis  dark 
eyes  had  that  muddy  and  troubled  expression  which  in  a 
young  man  too  surely  indicates  the  habitual  consciousness 
of  inward  impurity.  His  broad,  high  forehead  was  flushed 
and  pimpled,  his  lips  swollen  and  tumid,  and  his  whole  air 
and  manner  gave  painful  evidence  that  he  was  at  present 
too  far  under  the  influence  of  stimulus  justly  to  apprehend 
what  he  was  about. 

Nina  followed  him,  and  Clayton  was  absolutely  shocked 
at  the  ghastly  paleness  of  her  face.  She  made  an  uncertain 
motion  towards  him,  as  if  she  would  have  gone  to  him  for 
protection.  Clayton  rose  ;  Carson,  also  ;  and  all  stood  for  a 
moment  in  silent  embarrassment. 

"Well,  this  is  a  pretty  business,  to  be  sure!  Nina," 
said  he,  turning  to  her,  with  a  tremendous  oath,  "why 
don't  you  introduce  me  ?  Pretty  way  to  meet  a  brother  you 
have  n't  seen  for  three  or  four  years  !  You  act  as  if  you 
were  ashamed  of  me  !  Confound  it  all !  introduce  me,  I 
say  !  " 

"  Tom,  don't  speak  so  !  "  said  Nina,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  in  a  soothing  tone.  "  This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Clayton  ; 
and,  Mr.  Clayton,"  she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  to  him,  and 
speaking  in  a  trembling  voice,  "this  is  my  brother." 

Mr.  Clayton  offered  his  hand,  with  the  ordinary  expres- 
sions of  civility. 

"  Mr.  Carson,"  said  Nina,  "  my  brother." 

There  was  '  something  inexpressibly  touching  and  affect- 
ing in  the  manner  in  which  this  was  said.  One  other  person 
noticed  it.  Harry,  who  had  given  the  horses  to  the  ser- 
vants, stood  leaning  against  the  doorway,  looking  on.  A 
fiery  gleam,  like  that  of  a  steel  blade,  seemed  to  shoot  from 
his  blue  eyes  ;  and  each  time  that  Nina  said  "  my  brother," 
he  drew  in  his  breath,  as  one  who  seeks  to  restrain  himself 
in  some  violent  inward  emotion. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  any  of  you  want  to  see  me  much," 


EXPLANATIONS.  163 

said  the  new-comer,  taking  a  chair,  and  sitting-  down  dog- 
gedly in  the  centre  of  the  group,  with  his  hat  on  his  head. 
"  Well,  I  hare  as  good  a  right  as  anybody  to  be  here  !  "  he 
continued,  spitting  a  quid  of  tobacco  at  Aunt  Nesbit's  feet. 
"For. my  part,  I  think  relations  ought  to  have  natural  affec- 
tion, and  be  glad  to  see  one  another.  Well,  now,  you  can 
see,  gentlemen,  with  your  own  eyes,  just  how  it  is  here ! 
There  's  my  sister,  there.  You  better  believe  me,  she  has  n't 
seen  me  for  three  years  !  Instead  of  appearing  glad,  or  any- 
thing, there  she  sits,  all  curled  up  in  a  corner  !  Won't  come 
near  me,  more  than  if  I  had  the  plague  !  Come  here,  now, 
you  little  kit,  and  sit  in  my  lap  !  " 

He  made  a  movement  to  pull  Nina  towards  him,  which 
she  resisted  with  an  air  of  terror,  looking  at  her  aunt,  who, 
more  terrified  still,  sat  with  her  feet  drawn  up  on  the  sofa, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  mad  dog.  There  was  reason  enough 
for  the  terror  which  seemed  to  possess  them  both.  Both 
had.  too  vivid  recollections  of  furious  domestic  hurricanes 
that  had  swep.t  over  the  family  when  Tom  Gordon  came 
home.  Nina  remembered  the  storms  of  oaths  and  curses 
that  had  terrified  her  when  a  child  ;  the  times  that  she  had 
seen  her  father  looking  like  death,  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hand,  and  sighing  as  only  those  sigh  who  have  an  only  son 
worse  than  dead. 

It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  Nina,  generally  courage- 
ous and  fearless  as  she  was,  should  have  become  fearful  and 
embarrassed  at  his  sudden  return. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  softly,  coming  up  to  him,  "you 
have  n't  been  to  supper.     Had  n't  you  better  come  out  ?  " 

"  No  you  don't !  "  said  he,  catching  her  round  the  waist, 
and  drawing  her  on  his  knee.  "You  won't  get  me  out  of 
the  room,  now  !  I  know  what  I  am  about !  Tell  me," 
continued  he,  still  holding  her  on  his  knee,  "  which  of  them 
is  it,  Nin  ?  —  which  is  the  favored  one  ?  "  " 

Clayton  rose  and  went  out  on  the  veranda,  and  Mr.  Car- 
son asked  Harry  to  show  him  into  his  room. 

"  Hallo  !  shelling  out  there,  are  they  ?     Well,  Nin,  to  tell 


164  EXPLANATION1?. 

the  truth,  I  am  deuced  hungry.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see 
what  the  thunder  keeps  my  Jim  out  so  long.  I  sent  him 
across  to  the  post-office.  He  ought  to  have  been  back  cer- 
tainly as  soon  as  I  was.  0,  here  he  comes  !  Hallo  !  you 
dog,  there  !  "  said  he,  going  to  the  door,  where  a  very  black 
negro  was  dismounting.     "  Any  letters  ?  " 

"  No,  mas'r.  I  spect  de  mails  have  gin  up.  Der  an't 
been  no  letters  dere,  for  no  one,  for  a  month.  It  is  some 
'quatic  disorganization  of  dese  yer  creeks,  I  s'pose.  So  de 
letter-bags  goes  anywhere  'cept  der  right  place." 

"  Confound  it  all  !  I  say,  you  Nin,"  turning  round, 
"  why  don't  you  offer  a  fellow  some  supper  ?  Coming  home, 
here,  in  my  own  father's  house,  everybody  acts  as  if  they 
were  scared  to  death  !     No  supper  !  " 

"Why,  Tom,  I  've  been  asking  you,  these  three  or  four 
times." 

"  Bless  us  !  "  said  Jim,  whispering  to  Harry.  "  De  mis- 
chief is,  he  an't  more  than  half-primed !  Tell  her  to  give 
him  a  little  more  brandy,  and  after  a  little  we  will  get  him 
into  bed  as  easy  as  can  be  !  " 

And  the  event  proved  so  ;  for,  on  sitting  down  to  supper, 
Tom  Gordon  passed  regularly  through  all  the  stages  of 
drunkenness ;  became  as  outrageously  affectionate  as  he 
had  been  before  surly,  kissed  Nina  and  Aunt  Nesbit,  cried 
over  his  sins  and  confessed  his  iniquities,  laughed  and 
cried  feebly,  till  at  last  he  sank  in  his  chair  asleep. 

"  Dar,  he  is  done  for,  now!  "  said  Jim,  who  had  been 
watching  the  gradual  process.  "  Now,  just  you  and  I,  let 's 
tote  him  off,"  said  he  to  Harry. 

Nina,  on  her  part,  retired  to  a  troubled  pillow.  She  fore- 
saw nothing  before  her  but  mortification  and  embarrass- 
ment, and  realized  more  than  ever  the  peculiar  loneliness  of 
her  situation. 

For  all  purposes  of  consultation  and  aid,  Aunt  Nesbit 
was  nobody  in  her  esteem,  and  Nina  was  always  excited 
and  vexed  by  every  new  attempt  that  she  made  to  confide 
in  her. 


EXPLANATIONS.  165 

"  Now,  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  lay  down, 
•'no  one  knows  what  will  turn  up.  lie  will  go  round 
as  usual,  interfering  with  everything  —  threatening  and 
frightening  my  servants,  and  getting  up  some  difficulty 
or  other  with  Harry.  Dear  me  !  it  seems  to  me  life  is  com- 
ing over  me  hard  enough,  and  all  at  once,  too  !" 

As  Nina  said  this,  she  saw  some  one  standing  by  her  bed. 
It  was  Milly,  who  stooped  tenderly  over  her,  smoothing  and 
arranging  the  bed-clothes  in  a  motherly  way. 

"  Is  that  you,  Milly  ?  0,  sit  down  here  a  minute  !  I  am 
so  troubled  !  It  seems  to  me  1 7ve  had  so  much  trouble  to- 
day !  Do  you  know  Tom  came  home  to-night  so  drunk  !  0, 
dear  Milly,  it  was  horrid  !  Do  you  know  he  took  me  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  me  ;  and,  though  he  is  my  only  brother,  it 's 
perfectly  dreadful  to  me !  And  I  feel  so  worried,  and  so 
anxious  !  " 

"  Yes,  lamb,  I  knows  all  about  dese  yer  things,"  said 
Milly.     "I 's  seen  him  many  and  many  times." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  said  Nina,  "  that  I  don't  know  what 
he  will  do  to-morrow  —  and  before  Mr.  Clayton,  too  !  It 
makes  me  feel  so  helpless,  ashamed,  and  mortifies  me  so  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  chile,"  said  Milly,  gently  stroking  her  head. 

"  I  stand  so  much  alone  !  "  said  Nina.  "  Other  girls  have 
some  friend  or  relation  to  lean  on  ;  but  I  have  nobody  !  " 

"Why  don't  you  ask  your  Father  to  help  you?"  said 
Milly  to  Nina,  in  a  gentle  tone. 

"Ask  who?"  said  Nina,  lifting  up  her  head  from  the 
pillow. 

"Your  Father.'"  said  Milly,  with  a  voice  of  solemnity. 
"  Don't  you  know  '  Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven  ;  ?  You 
have  n't  forgot  your  prayers,  I  hope,  honey." 

Nina  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  And  Milly  continued, 
"Now,  if!  was  you,  lamb,  I  would  tell  my  Father  all  about 
it.  Why,  chile,  He  loves  you  !  He  would  n't  like  nothing 
better,  now,  than  to  have  you  just  come  to  Him  and  tell  Him 
all  about  your  troubles,  and  He  '11  make  'em  all  straight. 


1GG  EXPLANATIONS. 

That's  the  way  I  does  ;  and  I's  found  it  come  out  right, 
many  and  many  a  time." 

"  Why,  Milly,  you  would,  n't  have  me  go  to  God  about 
my  little  foolish  affairs  ?" 

"  Laws,  chile,  what  should  you  go  to  Him  'bout,  den  ? 
Sure  dese  are  all  de  'fairs  you's  got." 

"Well,  but,  Milly,"  said  Nina,  apprehensively,  "you 
know  I  've  been  a  very  bad  girl  about  religion.  It's  years 
and  years  since  I  've  said  any  prayers.  At  school,  the  girls 
used  to  laugh  at  anybody  who  said  prayers  ;  and  so  I  never 
did.  And,  since  I  've  neglected  my  heavenly  Father  when 
things  went  well  with  me,  it  would  n't  be  fair  to  call  on 
Him  now,  just  because  I  've  got  into  trouble.  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  honorable." 

"  De  Lord  bless  dis  yer  chile  !  Do  hear  her  talk  !  Just 
as  if  de  heavenly  Father  did  n't  know  all  about  you,  and 
had  n't  been  a  loving  and  watching  you  de  whole  time  ! 
Why,  chile,  He  knows  what  poor  foolish  creatures  we  be  ; 
and  He  an't  noways  surprised,  nor  put  out.  Why,  laws, 
don't  you  know  He  's  de  good  shepherd  ?  And  what  you 
suppose  dey  has  shepherds  fur,  'cept  de  sheeps  are  all  de 
time  running  away,  and  getting  into  trouble  ?  Why,  honey, 
clat's  ivhat  dey  'sfur." 

"  Well,  but  it  is  so  long  since  I  prayed,  that  I  don't  know 
anything  how  to  pray,  Milly." 

"  Bless  you,  chile,  who  wanted  you  to  pray  ?  I  never 
prays  myself.  Used  to  try,  but  I  made  such  drefful  poor 
work  on  it  that  I  gin  it  up.  Now,  I  just  goes  and  talks  to 
de  Father,  and  tells  Him  anything  and  everything  ;  and  I 
think  He  likes  it  a  great  deal  better.  Why,  He  is  just  as 
willing  to  hear  me  now,  as  if  I  was  the  greatest  lady  in  the 
land.  And  He  takes  such  an  interest  in  all  my  poor  'fairs  ! 
Why,  sometimes  I  go  to  Him  when  my  heart  is  so  heavy ; 
and,  when  I  tells  Him  all  about  it,  I  comes  away  as  light  as 
a  feather! " 

"  Well,  but,  after  I  've  forgotten  Him  so  many  years  !  " 

"  Why,  honey,  now  just  look  yere !  I  'member  once,  when 


EXPLANATIONS.  167 

you  was  a  little  weety  thing,  that  you  toddles  down  dem 
steps  dere,  and  you  slips  away  from  dem  dat  was  watching 
you,  and  you  toddles  away  off  into  de  grove,  yonder,  and 
dere  you  got  picking  flowers,  and  one  thing  and  another, 
mighty  tickled  and  peart.  You  was  down  dere  'joying 
yourself,  till,  by  and  by,  your  pa  missed  you  ;  and  den  such 
another  hunt  as  dere  was  !  Dere  was  a  hurrying  here, 
and  a  looking  dere  ;  and  finally  your  pa  run  down  in  the 
woods,  and  dere  you  'd  got  stuck  fast  in  de  mud  !  both 
your  shoes  off,  and  well  scratched  with  briers  ;  and  dere 
you  stood  a  crying,  and  calling  your  pa.  I  tell  you  he  said 
dat  ar  was  de  sweetest  music  he  ever  heard  in  his  life.  I 
'member  he  picked  you  up,  and  came  up  to  de  house  kiss- 
ing you.  Now,  dere  'twas,  honey!  You  didn't  call  on 
your  pa  till  you  got  into  trouble.  And  laws,  laws,  chile, 
dat;s  de  way  with  us  all.  We  never  does  call  on  de 
Father  till  we  gets  into  trouble  ;  and  it  takes  heaps  and 
heaps  of  trouble,  sometimes,  to  bring  us  round.  Some 
time,  chile,  I  '11  tell  you  my  sperence.  I 's  got  a  sperence 
on  this  point.  But,  now,  honey,  don't  trouble  yourself  no 
more  ;  but  just  ask  your  Father  to  take  care  of  your  'fairs, 
and  turn  over  and  go  to  sleep.  And  lie  '11  do  it.  Now 
you  mind." 

So  saying,  Milly  smoothed  the  pillow  with  anxious  care, 
and,  kissing  Nina  on  the  forehead,  departed. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

TOM   GOEDON. 

"  I  say,  Nina,"  said  her  brother,  coming  in,  a  day  or  two 
after,  from  a  survey  that  he  had  been  taking  round  the 
premises,  "you  want  me  here  to  manage  this  place.  Every- 
thing going  at  sixes  and  sevens  ;  and  that  nigger  of  a  Harry 
riding  round  with  his  boots  shining.  That  fellow  cheats 
you,  and  feathers  his  own  nest  well.  I  know !  These  white 
niggers  are  all  deceitful." 

"  Come,  Tom,  you  know  the  estate  is  managed  just  as 
father  left  word  to  have  it ;  and  Uncle  John  says  that  Harry 
is  an  excellent  manager.  I  'm  sure  nobody  could  have  been 
more  faithful  to  me  ;  and  I  am  very  well  satisfied." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say.  All  left  to  you  and  the  executors,,  as 
you  call  them  ;  as  if  /  were  not  the  natural  guardian  of  my 
sister!  Then  I  come  here  to  put  up  with  that  fellow's  im- 
pudence !  " 

"Whose?  —  Harry's?  He  is  never  impudent.  He  is 
always  gentlemanly.     Everybody  remarks  it." 

"  Gentlemanly  !  There  it  is,  Nin  I  What  a  fool  you  are 
to  encourage  the  use  of  that  word  in  connection  with  any 
of  your  niggers!  Gentleman,  forsooth !  And  while  he  pi  ays 
gentleman,  who  takes  care  ?  I  tell  you  what,  you  '11  find, 
one  of  these  days,  how  things  are  going  on.  But  that's 
just  the  way !  You  never  would  listen  to  me,  or  pay  the 
least  attention  to  my  advice." 

"  0,  Tom,  don't  talk  about  that  —  don't !  I  never  inter- 
fere about  your  affairs.  Please  leave  me  the  right  to 
manage  mine  in  my  own  way." 


TOJI   GORDON.  169 

"And  who  is  this  Clayton  that's  hanging  about  here? 
Are  you  going  to  have  him,  or  he  you  —  hey  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Nina. 

"  Because  I,  for  one,  don't  like  him  •  and  I  shan't  give 
my  consent  to  let  him  have  you.  That  other  one  is  worth 
twice  as  much.  He  has  one  of  the  largest  properties  in 
New  York.  Joe  Snider  has  told  me  about  him.  You  shall 
have  him." 

"  I  shall  not  have  him,  say  what  you  please  ;  and  I  shall 
have  Mr.  Clayton,  if  I  choose  !  "  said  Nina,  with  a  height- 
ened color.  "  You  have  no  right  to  dictate  to  me  of  my 
own' affairs  ;   and  I  shan't  submit  to  it,  I  tell  you  frankly." 

"  Highty-tighty  !  We  are  coming  up,  to  be  sure  !  "  sai  1 
Tom. 

"  Moreover,"  said  Nina,  "  I  wish  you  to  let  everything 
on  this  place  entirely  alone  ;  and  remember  that  my  ser- 
vants are  not  your  servants,  and  that  you  have  no  control 
over  them,  whatever." 

"  Well,  we  will  see  how  you '11  help  yourself!  I  am  not 
going  to  go  skulking  about  on  my  father's  own  place  as  if  I 
had  no  right  or  title  there  ;  and  if  your  niggers  don't  look 
sharp,  they  '11  find  out  whether  I  am  the  master  here  or  not, 
especially  that  Harry.  If  the  dog  dare  so  much  as  to  lift 
his  fingers  to  countermand  any  one  of  my  orders,  I  'd  put 
a  bullet  through  his  head  as  soon  as  I  would  through  a 
buck's.     I  give  you  warning  !  " 

"  0,  Tom,  pray  don't  talk  so  !"  said  Nina,  who  really 
began  to  be  alarmed.  "What  do  you  want  to  make  me 
such  trouble,  for  ?  " 

The  conversation  was  here  suspended  by  the  entrance  of 
Milly. 

"  If  you  please,  Miss  Nina,  come  and  show  me  which 
of  your  muslins  you  wish  to  be  done  up,  as  I 's  starching 
for  Miss  Loo." 

Glad  of  an   opportunity  to  turn  the  conversation,   Nina 
ran  up  to  her  room,  whither  she  was  followed  by  Milly, 
who  shut  the  door,  and  spoke  to  her  in  mysterious  tones. 
15 


170.  TOM   GOKDON, 

"  Miss  Nina,  can't  you  make  some  errand  to  get  Harry- 
off  the  place  for  two  or  three  clays,  while  Mas'r  Tom 's 
round  ?  " 

"  But  what  right,"  said  Nina,  with  heightened  color, 
"has  he  to  dictate  to  my  servants,  or  uie  ?  or  to  interfere 
with  any  of  our  arrangements  here  ?" 

"  0,  dere  's  no  use  talking  about  rights,  honey.  We  must 
all  do  jest  what  we  ken.  Don't  make  much  odds  whether 
our  rights  is  one  way  or  t'  other.  You  see,  chile,  it 's  just 
here.  Harry 's  your  right  hand.  But  you  see  he  an't  learnt 
to  bend  'fore  the  wind,  like  the  rest  of  us.  He  is  spirity ; 
he  is  just  as  full  now  as  a  powder-bos  ;  and  Mas'r  Tom  is 
bent  on  aggravating  him.  And,  laws,  chile,  dere  may  be 
bloody  work  —  dere  may  so  !  " 

"  Why,  do  you  think  he  'd  dare  —  " 

"  Chile,  don't  talk  to  me  !  Dare  !  — yes  ;  sure  'nough  he 
will  dare  !  Besides,  dere  's  fifty  ways  young  gentlemen 
may  take  to  aggravate  and  provoke.  And,  when  flesh  and 
blood  can't  bear  it  no  longer,  if  Harry  raises  his  hand,  why, 
den  shoot  him  down  !  Nothing  said  —  nothing  done.  You 
can't  help  yourself.  You  won't  want  to  have  a  law-suit 
with  your  own  brother;  and,  if  you  did,  ;t  wouldn't  bring 
Harry  to  life  1  Laws,  chile,  ef  I  could  tell  you  what  I  've 
seen  —  you  don't  know  nothing  'bout  it.  Now,  I  tell  you, 
get  up  some  message  to  your  uncle's  plantation ;  send  him 
off  for  anything  or  nothing ;  only  have  him  gone  I  And 
then  speak  your  brother  fair,  and  then  may  be  he  will  go 
off.  But  don't  you  quarrel !  don't  you  cross  him,  come 
what  may  !  Dere  an't  a  soul  on  the  place  that  can  bar  de 
sight  on  him.  But,  then,  you  see  the  rest  dey  all  bends  1 
But,  chile,  you  must  be  quick  about  it !  Let  me  go  right 
off  and  find  him.  Just  yoxi  come  in  the  little  back  room, 
and  I'll  call  him  in." 

Pale  and  trembling,  Nina  descended  .into  the  room  ;  and, 
in  a  few  moments  after,  Milly  appeared,  followed  by  Harry. 

"  Harry  !  "  said  Nina,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  I  want  you 


TOM    GOBDOF.  171 

to  take  your  horse  and  go  over  to  Uncle  John's  plantation, 
and  carry  a  note  for  me." 

Harry  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ground,  and  Nina  continued, 

"  And,  Harry,  I  think  you  had  better  make  some  business 
or  errand  to  keep  you  away  two  or  three  days,  or  a  week." 

"Miss  Nina,"  said  Harry,  "the  affairs  of  the  place  are 
very  pressing  now,  and  need  overlooking.  A  few  days' 
neglect  now  may  produce  a  great  loss,  and  then  it  will  be 
said  that  I  neglected  my  business  to  idle  and  ride  round  the 
country." 

"Well,  but,  if  I  send  you,  I  take  the  responsibility,  and 
I  '11  bear  the  loss.  The  fact  is,  Harry,  I  'm  afraid  that  you 
won't  have  patience  to  be  here,  now  Tom  is  at  home.  In 
fact,  Harry,  I  'm  afraid  for  your  life  !  xVnd  now,  if  you  have 
any  regard  for  me,  make  the  best  arrangement  with  the  work 
you  can,  and  be  off.  I  '11  tell  him  that  I  sent  you  on  business 
of  my  own,  and  I  am  going  to  write  a  letter  for  you  to  carry 
It 's  the  only  safe  way.  He  has  so  many  ways  in  which  he 
can  provoke  and  insult  you,  that,  at  last,  you  may  say  or  do 
something  that  will  give  him  occasion  against  you ;  and  I 
think  he  is  determined  to  drive  you  to  this." 

"Isn't  this  provoking,  now  ?  isn't  this  outrageous?" 
said  Harry,  between  his  teeth,  looking  down,  "  that  every- 
thing must  be  left,  and  all  because  I  have  n't  the  right  to 
stand  up  like  a  man,  and  protect  you  and  yours  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  !  it  is  a  shame  !  "  said  Nina.  "  But,  Harry, 
don't  stop  to  think  upon  it ;  do  go  !  "  She  laid  her  hand 
softly  on  his.     "  For  my  sake,  now,  be  good  —  be  good  !  " 

The  room  where  they  were  standing  had  long  windows, 
which  opened,  like  those  of  the  parlor,  on  the  veranda,  and 
commanded  a  view  of  a  gravel-walk  bordered  with  shrub- 
bery. As  Harry  stood,  hesitating,  he  started  at  seeing  Li- 
sette  come  tripping  up  the  walk,  balancing  on  her  head  a 
basket  of  newly-ironed  muslins  and  linens.  Her  trim  little 
figure  was  displayed  in  a  close-fitting  gown  of  blue,  a  snowy 
handkerchief  crossed  upon  her  bust,  and  one  rounded  arm 


172  TOM    GORDON. 

raised  to  steady  the  basket  upon  her  head.  She  came  trip- 
ping- forward,  with  her  usual  airy  motion,  humming  a  portion 
of  a  song ;  and  attracted,  at  the  same  moment,  the  attention 
of  Tom  Gordon  and  of  her  husband. 

"Ton  my  word,  if  that  isn't  the  prettiest  concern!" 
said  Tom,  as  he  started  up  and  ran  down  the  walk  to  meet 
her. 

"  Good-morning,  my  pretty  girl !  "  he  said. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  returned  Lisette,  in  her  usual  tone 
of  gay  cheerfulness. 

"  Pray,  who  do  you  belong  to,  my  pretty  little  puss  ?  I 
think  I  've  never  seen  you  on  this  place." 

"Please,  sir,  I  ;m  Harry's  wife." 

"  Indeed  !  you  are,  hey  ?  Devilish  good  taste  he  has  !  " 
said  he,  laying  his  hand  familiarly  on  her  shoulder. 

The  shoulder  was  pulled  away,  and  Lisette  moved  rapidly 
on  to  the  other  side  of  the  path,  with  an  air  of  vexation  which 
made  her  look  rather  prettier. 

"  What,  my  clear,  don't  you  know  that  I  am  your  hus- 
band^ young  master?  Come,  come!"  he  said,  following 
her,  and  endeavoring  to  take  hold  of  her  arm. 

"  Please  let  mo  alone!"  said  Lisette,  coloring,  and  in  a 
petted,  vexed  tone. 

"  Let  you  alone  ?  No,  that  I  shan't,  not  while  you  ask  it 
in  such  a  pretty  way  as  that !  "  And  again  the  hand  was 
laid  upon  her  shoulder. 

It  must  be  understood  that  Harry  had  witnessed  so  far, 
in  pantomime,  this  scene  He  had  stood  with  compressed 
lips,  and  eyes  slowly  dilating,  looking  at  it.  Nina,  who 
was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  window,  wondered  at  the 
expression  of  his  countenance. 

"Look  there,  Miss  Nina!"  he  said.  "Do  you  see  my 
wife  and  your  brother  ?  " 

Nina  turned,  and  in  an  instant  the  color  mounted  to  her 
cheeks  ;  her  little  form  seemed  to  dilate,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  fire  ;  and  before  Harry  coidd  see  what  she  was  doing, 


TOM    GOEDON.  173 

she  was  down  in  the  gravel-walk,  and  had  taken  Lisette's 
hand. 

"  Tom  Gordon,"  she  said,  "  1 7m  ashamed  of  you  !  Hush ! 
hush  !  "  she  continued,  fixing  her  eyes  on  him,  and  stamp- 
ing her  foot.  "Dare  to  come  to  my  place,  and  take  such 
liberties  here !  You  shall  not  be  allowed  to  while  I  am 
mistress  ;  and  I  am  mistress  !  Dare  to  lay  a  finger  on  this 
girl  while  she  is  here  under  my  protection  !  Come,  Li- 
sette  ! "  And  she  seized  the  trembling  girl  by  the  hand,  and 
drew  her  along  towards  the  house. 

Tom  Gordon  was  so  utterly  confused  at  this  sudden  burst 
of  passion  in  his  sister,  that  he  let  them  go  off  without  oppo- 
sition. In  a  few  moments  he  looked  after  her,  and  gave  a 
long,  low  whistle. 

"  Ah  !  Pretty  well  up  for  her  !  But  she  '11  find  it 's  easier 
said  than  clone,  I  fancy  !  "  And  he  sauntered  up  to  the 
veranda,  where  Harry  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  swelling  with  repressed  emotion. 

"Go  in,  Lisette,"  said  Nina ;  "  take  the  things  into  my 
room,  and  I  '11  come  to  you." 

"  'Pon  my  word,  Harry,"  said  Tom,  coming  up,  and 
addressing  Harry  in  the  most  insulting  tone,  "  we  are  all 
under  the  greatest  obligations  to  you  for  bringing  such  a 
pretty  little  fancy  article  here  !  " 

"  My  wife  does  not  belong  to  this  place,"  said  Harry, 
forcing  himself  to  speak  calmly.  "  She  belongs  to  a  Mrs. 
Le  Clere,  who  has  come  into  Belleville  plantation." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you  for  the  information  !  I  may  take  a  fancy 
to  buy  her,  and  I  'd  like  to  know  who  she  belongs  to.  I  've 
been  wanting  a  pretty  little  concern  of  that  sort.  She  's  a 
good  housekeeper,  is  n't  she,  Harry  ?  Does  up  shirts  well  ? 
What  do  you  suppose  she  could  be  got  for  ?  I  must  go  and 
see  her  mistress." 

Daring  this  cruel  harangue  Harry's  hands  twitched  and 

quivered,  and  he  started  every  now  and  then,  looking  first 

at  Nina,   and  then  at  his   tormentor.     He  turned  deadly 

pale  ;  even  his  lips  were  of  ashy  whiteness  ;  and,  with  his 

15* 


174  TOM    GOEDON. 

arms  still  folded,  and  making  no  reply,  lie  fixed  his  large 
blue  eyes  upon  Tom,  and,  as  it  sometimes  happened  in  mo- 
ments of  excitement  and  elevation,  there  appeared  on  the 
rigid  lines  of  his  face,  at  that  moment,  so  strong  a  resem- 
blance to  Col.  Gordon,  that  Nina  noticed  and  was  startled 
by  it.  Tom  Gordon  noticed  it  also.  It  added  fuel  to  the 
bitterness  of  his  wrath  ;  and  there  glared  from  his  eyes  a 
malignancy  of  hatred  that  was  perfectly  appalling.  The 
two  brothers  seemed  like  thunder-clouds  opposing  each 
other,  and  ready  to  dart  lightning.  Nina  hastened  to  inter- 
fere. 

"Hurry,  hurry,  Harry !  I  want  that  message  carried. 
Do,  pray,  go  directly  ! " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Tom,  "  I  must  call  Jim,  and  have  my 
horse.  Which  is  the  way  to  that  Belleville  plantation  ?  I 
think  I  '11  ride  over  there."  And  he  turned  and  walked 
indolently  down  the  steps. 

"For  shame,  Tom!  you  won't!  you  can't!  How  can 
you  want  to  trouble  me  so  ?  "  said  Nina. 

He  turned  and  looked  upon  her  with  an  evil  smile,  turned 
again,  and  was  gone. 

"  Harry,  Harry,  go  quick  !  Don't  you  worry  ;  there  's 
no  danger!"  she  addod,  in  a  lower  voice.  "Madam  Le 
Clere  never  would  consent." 

"  There  's  no  knowing !  "  said  Harry,  "  never  any  know- 
ing !  People,  act  about  money  as  they  do  about  nothing 
else." 

"  Then  —  then  I  '11  send  and  buy  her  myself !  "  said  Nina. 

"  You  don't  know  how  our  affairs  stand,  Miss  Nina,"  said 
Harry,  hurriedly.  "  The  money  could  n't  be  raised  now  for 
it,  especially  if  I  have  to  go  off  this  week.  It  will  make  a 
great  difference,  my  being  here  or  not  being  here  ;  and  very 
likely  Master  Tom  may  have  a  thousand  dollars  to  pay  down 
on  the  spot.  I  never  knew  him  to  want  money  when  his 
will  was  up.  Great  God  !  have  n't  I  borne  this  yoke  long 
enough  ? " 

"  Well,  Harry,"  said. Nina,  "  I  '11  sell  everything  I  've  got 


TOM   GORDON.  175 

—  my  jewels  —  everything- !  I  '11  mortgage  the  plantation, 
before  Tom  Gordon  shall  do  this  thing !  I  'rn  not  quite  so 
selfish  as  I  've  always  seemed  to  be.  I  know  you  've  made 
the  sacrifice  of  body  and  soul  to  my  interest ;  and  I  've  always 
taken  it,  because  I  loved  my  ease,  and  was  a  spoiled  child. 
But,  after  all,  I  know  I  've  as  much  energy  as  Tom  has, 
when  I  am  roused,  and  I  '11  go  over  this  very  morning  and 
make  an  offer  for  her.  Only  you  be  off.  You  can't  stand 
such  provocation  as  you  get  here  ;  and  if  you  yield,  as  any 
man  will  do,  at  last,  then  everything  and  everybody  will  go 
against  you,  and  I  can't  protect  you.  Trust  to  me.  I  'in 
not  so  much  of  a  child  as  I  have  seemed  to  be !  You  '11 
find  I  can  act  for  myself,  and  you  too  !  There  comes  Mr. 
Clayton  through  the  shrubbery  —  that's  right!  Order  two 
horses  round  to  the  door  immediately,  and  we  '11  go  over 
there  this  morning." 

Nina  gave  her  orders  with  a  dignity  as  if  she  had  been  a 
princess,  and  in  all  his  agitation  Harry  could  not  help  mar- 
velling at  the  sudden  air  of  womanliness  which  had  come 
over  her. 

"  I  could  serve  you,'"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  to  the  last 
drop  of  my  blood  !  But,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  which  made 
Nina  tremble,  "  I  hate  everybody  else  !  I  hate  your  coun- 
try !  I  hate  your  laws  !  " 

"Harry,"  said  Nina,  "you  do  wrong  —  you  forget  your- 
self!" 

"  0,  I  do  wrong,  do  I  ?  We  are  the  people  that  are  never 
to  do  wrong !  People  may  stick  pins  in  us,  and  stick 
knives  in  us,  wipe  their  shoes  on  us,  spit  in  our  face  —  we 
must  be  amiable  !  we  must  be  models  of  Christian  patience  ! 
I  tell  you,  your  father  should  rather  have  put  me  into  quar- 
ters and  made  me  work  like  a  field-negro,  than  to  have  given 
me  the  education  he  did,  and  leave  me  under  the  foot  of 
every  white  man  that  dares  tread  on  me  !  " 

Nina  remembered  to  have  seen  her  father  in  transports  of 
passion,  and  was  again  shocked  and  startled  to  see  the 


176  TOM    GORDON. 

resemblance  between  his  face  and  the  convulsed  face  before 
her. 

"Harry,"  she  said,  in  a  pitying-,  half-admonitory  tone, 
"  do  think  what  you  are  saying !  If  you  love  me,  be 
quiet !  " 

"Love  you?  You  have  always  held  my  heart  in  your 
hand  !  That  has  been  the  clasp  upon  my  chain !  If  it 
had  n't  been  for  you,  I  should  have  fought  my  way  to  the 
north  before  now,  or  I  would  have  found  a  grave  on  the 
road  !  " 

"  Well,  Harry/'  said  Nina,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"  my  love  shall  not  be  a  clasp  upon  any  chain  ;  for,  as  there 
is  a  God  in  heaven,  I  will  set  you  free  !  I  '11  have  a  bill 
introduced  at  the  very  next  legislature,  and  I  know  what 
friend  will  see  to  it.     So  go,  now,  Harry,  go  !  " 

Harry  stood  a  moment,  then  suddenly  raised  the  hand  of 
his  little  mistress  to  his  lips,  turned,  and  was  gone. 

Clayton,  who  had  been  passing  through  the  shrubbery, 
and  who  had  remarked  that  Nina  was  engaged  in  a  very 
exciting  conversation,  had  drawn  off,  and  stood  waiting  for 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps.  As  soon  as  Nina  saw 
him,  she  reached  out  her  hand  frankly,  saying, 

"  0,  there,  Mr.  Clayton,  you  are  just  the  person ! 
Would  n't  you  like  to  take  a  ride  with  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  he. 

"Wait  here  a  moment,"  said  she,  "till  I  get  ready.  The 
horses  will  be  here  immediately."  And,  running  up  the 
steps,  she  passed  quickly  by  him,  and  went  into  the  house. 

Clayton  had  felt  himself  in  circumstances  of  considerable 
embarrassment  ever  since  the  arrival  of  Tom  Gordon,  the 
evening  before.  He  had  perceived  that  the  young  man  had 
conceived  an  instinctive  dislike  of  himself,  which  he  was  at 
no  particular  pains  to  conceal ;  and  he  had  found  it  difficult 
to  preserve  the  appearance  of  one  who  does  not  notice.  He 
did  not  wish  to  intrude  upon  Nina  any  embarrassing  recog- 
nition of  her  situation,  even  under  the  guise  of  sympathy 
and  assistance  ;  and  waited,  therefore,  till  some  word  from 


TOM   GORDON.  177 

her  should  authorize  him  to  speak.  He  held  himself,  there- 
fore, ready  to  meet  any  confidence  which  she  might  feel  dis- 
posed to  place  in  him  ;  not  doubting,  from  the  frankness  of 
her  nature,  that  she  would  soon  find  it  impossible  not  to 
speak  of  what  was  so  deeply  interesting  to  her. 

Nina  soon  reappeared,  and,  mounting  their  horses,  they 
found  themselves  riding  through  the  same  forest-road  that 
led  to  the  cottage  of  Tiff,  from  which  a  divergent  path  went 
to  the  Belleville  plantation. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  alone  this  morning,  for  many 
reasons,"  said  Nina  ;  "  for  I  think  I  never  needed  a  friend's 
help  more.  I  'm  mortified  that  you  should  have  seen  what 
you  did  last  night ;  but,  since  you  have,  I  may  as  well 
speak  of  it.  The  fact  is,  that  my  brother,  though  he 
is  the  only  one  I  have,  never  did  treat  me  as  if  he  loved 
me.  I  can't  tell  what  the  reason  is  :  whether  he  was  jeal- 
ous of  my  poor  father's  love  for  me,  or  whether  it  was  be- 
cause I  was  a  wilful,  spoiled  girl,  and  so  gave  him  reason 
to  be  set  against  me,  or  whatever  the  reason  might  be,  —  he 
never  has  been  kind  to  me  long  at  a  time.  Perhaps  he 
would  be,  if  I  would  always  do  exactly  as  he  says  ;  but  I 
am  made  as  positive  and  wilful  as  he  is.  I  never  have  been 
controlled,  and  I  can't  recognize  the  right  which  he  seems  to 
assume  to  control  me,  and  to  dictate  as  to  my  own  private 
affairs.  He  was  not  left  my  guardian  ;  and,  though  I  do 
love  him,  I  shan't  certainly  take  him  as  one.  Now,  you  see, 
he  has  a  bitter  hatred,  and  a  most  unreasonable  one,  towards 
my  Harry ;  and  I  had  no  idea,  when  I  came  home,  in  how 
many  ways  he  had  the  power  to  annoy  me.  It  does  seem 
as  if  an  evil  spirit  possessed  them  both  when  they  get  to- 
gether ;  they  seem  as  full  of  electricity  as  they  can  be,  and 
I  am  every  instant. afraid  of  an  explosion.  Unfortunately 
for  Harry,  he  has  had  a  much  superior  education  to  the  gen- 
erality of  his  class  and  station,  and  the  situation  of  .trust  in 
which  he  has  been  placed  has  given  him  more  the  feelings 
of  a  free  man  and  a  gentleman  than  is  usual ;  for,  except 
Tom,  there  is  n't  one  of  our  family  circle  that  has  n't  always 


178  TOM    GOEDON. 

treated  him  with,  kindness,  and  even  with  deference  —  and 
I  think  this  very  thing  angers  Tom  the  more,  and  makes  him 
take  every  possible  occasion  of  provoking  and  vexing.  I 
believe  it  is  his  intention  to  push  Harry  up  to  some  des- 
perate action  ;  and,  when  I  see  how  frightfully  they  look  at 
each  other,  I  tremble  for  the  consequences.  Harry  has 
lately  married  a  very  pretty  wife,  with  whom  he  lives  in  a 
little  cottage  on  the  extremity  of  the  Belleville  estate  ;  and 
this  morning  Tom  happened  to  spy  her,  and  it  seemed  to 
inspire  him  with  a  most  ingenious  plan  to  trouble  Harry. 
He  threatened  to  come  over  and  buy  her  of  Madam  Le 
Clere  ;  and  so,  to  quiet  Harry,  I  promised  to  come  over  here 
before  him,  and  make  an  offer  for  her." 

"  Why,"  said  Clayton,  "  do  you  think  her  mistress  would 
sell  her  ?  "' 

"  I  can't  say,"  said  Nina.  "  She  is  a  person  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  only  by  report.  She  is  a  New  Orleans  Creole, 
who  has  lately  bought  the  place.  Lisette,  I  believe,  hires 
her  time  of  her.  Lisette  is  an  ingenious,  active  creature, 
and  contrives,  by  many  little  arts  and  accomplishments,  to 
pay  a  handsome  sum,  monthly,  to  her  mistress.  Whether 
the  offer  of  a  large  sum  at  once  would  tempt  her  to  sell 
her,  is  more  than  I  know  until  it  's  tried.  I  should  like  to 
have  Lisette,  for  Harry's  sake." 

"  And  do  you  suppose  your  brother  was  really  serious  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  be  at  all  surprised  if  he  were.  But,  serious 
or  not  serious,  I  intend  to  make  the  matter  sure." 

"  If  it  be  necessary  to  make  an  immediate  payment,"  said 
Clayton,  "  I  have  a  sum  of  money  which  is  lying  idle  in  the 
bank,  and  it 's  but  drawing  a  check  which  will  be  honored 
at  sight.  I  mention  this,  because  the  ability  to  make  an 
immediate  payment  may  make  the  negotiation  easier.  You 
ought  to  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  joining  you  in  a  good 
work." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Nina,  frankly.  "  It  may  not  be 
necessary ;  but,  if  it  should  be,  I  will  take  it  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  is  offered." 


TOM   GOEDOX.  179 

After  a  ride  of  about  an  hour,  they  arrived  in  the  bound- 
aries of  Belleville  plantation. 

In  former  days,  Nina  had  known  this  as  the  residence  of 
an  ancient  rich  family,  with  whom  her  father  was  on  visiting 
terms.  She  was  therefore-  uncomfortably  struck  with  the 
air  of  poverty,  waste,  and  decay,  everywhere  conspicuous 
through  the  grounds. 

Nothing  is  more  depressing  and  disheartening  than  the 
sight  of  a  gradual  decay  of  what  has  been  arranged  and 
constructed  with  great  care  ;  and  when  Nina  saw  the 
dilapidated  gateway,  the  crushed  and  broken  shrubbery, 
the  gaps  in  the  fine  avenue  where  trees  had  been  improvi- 
dently  cut  down  for  fire-wood,  she  could  not  help  a  feeling 
of  depression. 

"  How  different  this  place  used  to  be  when  I  came  here 
as  a  child  !  "  said  she.  "  This  madam,  whatever  her  name 
is,  can't  be  much  of  a  manager." 

As  she  said  this,  their  horses  came  up  the  front  of  the 
house,  in  which  the  same  marks  of  slovenly  neglect  were 
apparent.  Blinds  were  hanging  by  one  hinge  ;  the  door 
had  sunk  down  into  the  rotten  sill ;  the  wooden  pillars  that 
supported  it  were  decayed  at  the  bottom  ;  and  the  twin- 
ing roses  which  once  climbed  upon  them  laid  trailing,  dis- 
honored, upon  the  ground.  The  veranda  was  littered  with 
all  kinds  of  rubbish,  — rough  boxes,  saddles,  bridles,  over- 
coats ;  and  various  nondescript  articles  formed  convenient 
hiding-places  and  retreats,  in  which  a  troop  of  negro  chil- 
dren and  three  or  four  dogs  were  playing  at  hide-and-go- 
seek  with  great  relish  and  noise.  On  the  alighting  of  Nina 
and  Clayton  at  the  door,  they  all  left  their  sports,  and  ar- 
ranged themselves  in  a  grinning  row,  to  see  the  new  comers 
descend.  Nothing  seemed  to  be  further  from  the  minds  of 
the  little  troop  than  affording  the  slightest  assistance  in  the 
way  of  holding  horses  or  answering  questions.  All  they 
did  was  alternately  to  look  at  each  other  and  the  travellers, 
and  grin. 

A  tattered  servant-man,  with  half  a  straw  hat  on  his  head, 


180  TOM  GOBDON. 

was  at  length  raised  by  a  call  of  Clayton,  who  took  their 
horses  —  having  first  distributed  a  salutation  of  kicks  and 
cuffs  among  the  children,  asking  where  their  manners  were 
that  they  did  n't  show  the  gentleman  and  lady  in.  And 
Nina  and  Clayton  were  now  marshalled  by  the  whole  seven 
of  them  into  an  apartment  on  the  right  of  the  great  hall. 
Everything  in  the  room  appeared  in  an  unfinished  state. 
The  curtains  were^half  put  up  at  the  windows,  and  part 
tying  in  a  confused  heap  on  the  chairs.  The  damp,  mouldy 
paper,  which  hung  loosely  from  the  wall,  had  been  torn  away 
in  some  places,  as  if  to  prepare  for  repapering  ;  and  certain 
half-opened  rolls  of  costly  wall-paper  lay  on  the  table,  on 
which  appeared  the  fragment  of  some  ancient  luncheon  ;  to 
wit,  plates,  and  pieces  of  bread  and  cheese,  dirty  tumblers, 
and  an  empty  bottle.  It  was  difficult  to  find  a  chair  suffi- 
ciently free  from  dust  to  sit  down  on.  Nina  sent  up  her 
card  by  one  of  the  small  fry,  who,  having  got  half-way  up 
the  staircase,  was  suddenly  taken  with  the  desire  to  slide 
down  the  banisters  with  it  in  his  hand.  Of  course  he 
dropped  the  card  in  the  operation  ;  and  the  whole  group 
precipitated  themselves  briskly  on  to  it,  all  in  a  heap,  and 
fought,  tooth  and  nail,  for  the  honor  of  carrying  it  up  stairs. 
They  were  aroused,  however,  by  the  entrance  of  the  man 
with  half  a  hat ;  who,  on  Nina's  earnest  suggestion,  plunged 
into  the  troop,  which  ran,  chattering  and  screaming  like  so 
many  crows,  to  different  parts  of  the  hall,  while  he  picked 
up  the  card,  and,  with  infinite  good-will  beaming  on  his 
shining  black  face,  went  up  with  it,  leaving  Nina  and  Clay- 
ton waiting  below.  In  a  few  moments  he  returned. 
"  Missis  will  see  de  young  lady  up  stairs." 
Nina  tripped  promptly  after  him,  and  left  Clayton  the  sole 
tenant  of  the  parlor  for  an  hour.  At  length  she  returned, 
skipping  down  the  stairs,  and  opening  the  door  with  great 
animation. 

"  The  thing  is  done  !  "  she  said.     "  The  bill  of  sale  will 
be  signed  as  soon  as  we  can  send  it  over." 


TOM   GORDON.  181 

"  I  had  better  bring  it  over  myself/'  said  Clayton,  "and 
make  the  arrangement." 

"  So  be  it ! "  said  Nina.  "  But  pray  let  us  be  delivered 
from  this  place  !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  desolate-looking 
house  ?  I  remember  when  I  've  seen  it  a  perfect  paradise  — 
full  of  the  most  agreeable  people." 

"  And  pray  what  sort  of  a  person  did  you  find  ?  "  said 
Clayton,  as  they  were  riding  homeward. 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "she's  one  of  the  tow-string  order 
of  women.  Very  slack-twisted,  too,  I  fancy — -tall,  snufiy, 
and  sallow.  Clothes  looked  rough-dry,  as  if  they  had  been 
pulled  out  of  a  bag.  She  had  a  bright-colored  Madras 
handkerchief  tied  round  her  head,  and  spoke  French  a  lit- 
tle more  through  her  nose  than  French  people  usually  do. 
Flourished  a  yellow  silk  pocket-handkerchief.  Poor  soul ! 
She  said  she  had  been  sick  for  a  week  with  tooth-ache,  and 
kept  awake  all  night !  So,  one  must  n't  be  critical !  One 
comfort  about  these  French  people  is,  that  they  are  always 
'  ravis  de  vous  voir,'  let  what  will  turn  up.  The  good  soul 
was  really  polite,  and  insisted  on  clearing  all  the  things  off 
from  a  dusty  old  chair  for  me  to  sit  down  in.  The  room  was 
as  much  at  sixes  and  sevens  as  the  rest  of  the  house.  She 
apologized  for  the  whole  state  of  things  by  saying  that  they 
could  not  get  workmen  out  there  to  do  anything  for  her ; 
and  so  everything  is  left  in  the  second  future  tense  ;  and 
the  darkeys,  I  imagine,  have  a  general  glorification  in  the 
chaos.  She  is  one  of  the  indulgent  sort,  and  I  suspect 
she  '11  be  eaten  up  by  them  like  the  locusts.  Poor  thing  ! 
she  is  shockingly  home-sick,  and  longing  for  Louisiana, 
again.  For,  notwithstanding  her  snuffy  appearance,  and 
yellow  pocket-handkerchief,  she  really  has  a  genuine  taste 
for  beauty  ;  and  spoke  most  feelingly  of  the  oleanders,  crape 
myrtles,  and  cape  jessamines,  of  her  native  state." 

"  Well,  how  did  you  introduce  your  business  ? "  said  Clay- 
ton, laughing  at  this  description. 

"  Me?  —  Why,  I  flourished  out  the  little  French  I  have 
at  command,  and  she  flourished  her  little  English  ;  and  I 
16 


182  TOM   GORDON. 

think  I  rather  prepossessed  the  good  soul,  to  begin  with. 
Then  I  made  a  sentimental  story  about  Lisette  and  Harry's 
amours  ;  because  I  know  French  people  always  have  a 
taste  for  the  sentimental.  The  old  thing  was  really  quite 
affected  —  wiped  her  little  black  eyes,  pulled  her  hooked 
nose  as  a  tribute  to  my  eloquence,  called  Lisette  her  '  enfant 
mignon,'  and  gave  me  a  little  lecture  on  the  tender  passion, 
which  I  am  going  to  lay  up  for  future  use." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Clayton.  "  I  should  be  charmed  to  have 
you  repeat  it.     Can't  you  give  us  a  synopsis  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  synopsis  means.  But,  if  you  want 
me  to  tell  you  what  she  said,  I  shan't  do  it.  Well,  now,  do 
you  know  I  am  in  the  best  spirits  in  the  world,  now  that 
I  've  got  this  thing  off  my  mind,  and  out  of  that  desolate 
house  ?  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  direful  place  ?  What  is 
the  reason,  when  we  get  down  south,  here,  everything 
seems  to  be  going  to  destruction,  so  ?  I  noticed  it  all  the 
way  down  through  Virginia.  It  seems  as  if  everything  had 
stopped  growing,' and  was  going  backwards.  Well,  now, 
it 's  so  different  at  the  north !  I  went  up,  one  vacation,  into 
New  Hampshire.  It's  a  dreadfully  poor,  barren  country; 
nothing  but  stony  hills,  and  poor  soil.  And  yet  the  people 
there  seem  to  be  so  well  off!  They  live  in  such  nice,  tight, 
clean-looking  white  houses  !  Everything  around  them  looks 
so  careful  and  comfortable  ;  and  yet  their  land  is  n't  half 
so  good  as  ours,  down  here.  Why,  actually,  some  of  those 
places  seem  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  rock !  And,  then, 
they  have  winter  about  nine  months  in  the  year,  I  do  believe  ! 
But  these  Yankees  turn  everything  to  account.  If  a  man's 
field  is  covered  with  rock,  he  '11  find  some  way  to  sell  it,  and 
make  money  out  of  it ;  and  if  they  freeze  up  all  winter,  they 
sell  the  ice,  and  make  money  out  of  that.  They  just  live 
by  selling  their  disadvantages  !  " 

"  And  we  grow  poor  by  wasting  our  advantages,"  said 
Clayton. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Nina,  "people  think  it's  a  dread- 
ful thing  to  be  an  abolitionist  ?     But,  for  my  part,  I  've  a 


TOM    GORDON.  183 

great  inclination  to  be  one.  Perhaps  because  I  have  a  con- 
trary turn,  and  always  have  a  little  spite  against  what 
everybody  else  believes.  But,  if  you  won't  tell  anybody, 
I  '11  tell  you  —  I  don't  believe  in  slavery  !  " 

"  Nor  I,  either  !  "  said  Clayton. 

"  You  don't !  Well,  really,  I  thought  I  was  saying  some- 
thing original.  Now,  the  other  day,  Aunt  Nesbit's  minister 
was  at  our  house,  and  they  sat  crooning  together,  as  they 
always  do  ;  and,  among  other  things,  they  said,  '  What  a 
blessed  institution  it  was  to  bring  these  poor  Africans  over 
here  to  get  them  Christianized  ! '  So,  by  way  of  saying 
something  to  give  them  a  start,  I  told  them  I  thought  they 
came  nearer  to  making  heathen  of  us  than  we  to  making 
Christians  of  them." 

"  That 's  very  true,"  said  Clayton.  "  There  's  no  doubt 
that  the  kind  of  society  which  is  built  up  in  this  way  con- 
stantly tends  to  run  back  towards  barbarism.  It  prevents 
general  education  of  the  whites,  and  keeps  the  poorer 
classes  down  to  the  lowest  point,  while  it  enriches  a  few." 

"Well,  what  do  we  have  it  for?"  said  Nina.  "Why 
don't  we  blow  it  up,  right  off?  " 

"That's  a  question  easier  asked  than  answered.  The 
laws  against  emancipation  are  very  stringent.  But  I  think 
it  is  every  owner's  business  to  contemplate  this  as  a  future 
resort,  and  to  educate  his  servants  in  reference  to  it.  That 
is  what  I  am  trying  to  do  on  my  plantation." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Nina,  looking  at  him  with  a  good  deal 
of  interest.  "  Well,  now,  that  reminds  me  of  what  I  was 
going  to  say  to  you.  Generally  speaking,  my  conscience 
don't  trouble  me  much  about  my  servants,  because  I  think 
they  are  doing  about  as  well  with  me  as  they  would  be 
likely  to  do  anywhere  else.  But,  now,  there  's  Harry  !  He 
is  well-educated,  and  I  know  that  he  could  do  for  himself, 
anywhere,  better  than  he  does  here.  I  have  always  had  a 
kind  of  sense  of  this  ;  but  I  've  thought  of  it  more  lately,  and 
I  'm  going  to  try  to  have  him  set  free  at  the  next  legislature. 


184  TOM   GORDON. 

And  I  shall  want  you  to  help  mo  about  all  the  what-do-you- 
call-'ems." 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  be  quite  at  your  service,"  said  Clay- 
ton. 

"There  used  to  be  some  people,  when  I  was  up  at  the 
north,  who  talked  as  if  all  of  us  were  no  better  than  a  pack 
of  robbers  and  thieves.  And,  of  course,  when  I  was  there  I 
was  strong  for  our  institutions,  and  would  not  give  them  an 
inch  of  ground.  It  set  me  to  thinking,  though  ;  and  the 
result  of  my  thinking  is,  that  we  have  no  right  to  hold  those 
to  work  fur  us  who  clearly  can  do  better.  Now,  there  's 
Aunt  Nesbit's  Milly  —  there's  Harry  and  Lisette.  Why, 
it  's  clear  enough,  if  they  can  support  themselves  and  us 
too,  they  certainly  can  support  themselves  alone.  Lisette 
has  paid  eight  dollars  a  month  to  her  mistress,  and  sup- 
ported herself  besides.  I  'in  sure  it 's  we  that  are  the  help- 
less ones  !  " 

"  Well,  do  you  think  your  Aunt  Nesbit  is  going  to  follow 
your  example  ? " 

"  No  !  catch  her  at  it !  Aunt  Nesbit  is  doubly  fortified 
in  her  religion.  She  is  so  satisfied  with  something  or  other 
about  'cursed  be  Canaan,'  that  she'd  let  Milly  earn  ten 
dollars  a  month  for  her,  all  the  year  round,  and  never 
trouble  her  head  about  taking  every  bit  of  it.  Some  folks, 
you  know,  have  a  way  of  calling  everything  they  want  to 
do  a  dispensation  of  providence  !  Now,  Aunt  Nesbit  is  one 
of  'em.  She  always  calls  it  a  dispensation  that  the  negroes 
were  brought  over  here,  and  a  dispensation  that  we  are  the 
mistresses.  Ah  !  Milly  will  not  get  free  while  Aunt  Nesbit 
is  alive  !  And  do  you  know,  though  it  does  not  seem 
very  generous  in  me,  yet  I  'm  resigned  to  it,  because  Milly 
is  such  a  good  soul,  and  such  a  comfort  to  me  ?  —  do  you 
know  she  seems  a  great  deal  more  like  a  mother  to  me 
than  Aunt  Nesbit?  Why,  I  really  think,  if  Milly  had 
been  educated  as  we  are,  she  would  have  made  a  most 
splendid  woman  —  been  a  perfect  Candace  queen  of  Ethio- 
pia.    There  's  a  vast  deal  that  is  curious  and  interesting  in 


TOM   GOSDON.  185 

■some  of  these  old  Africans.  I  always  did  love  to  be.  with 
them  ;  some  of  them  are  so  shrewd  and  original !  But,  I 
wonder,  now,  what  Tom  will  think  of  my  cutting'  him  out 
so  neatly  ?     'T  will  make  him  angry,  I  suppose." 

"  0,  perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  do  real  intention  of  doing 
anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Clayton,  "He  may  have  said 
it  merely  for  bravado." 

"I  should  have  thought  so,  if  I  hadn't  known  that  he 
always  had  a  grudge  against  Harry." 

At  this  moment  the  galloping  of  a  horse  was  heard  in  the 
woodland  path  before  them  ;  and  very  soon  Tom  Gordon 
appeared  in  sight,  accompanied  by  another  man,  on  horse 
back,  with  whom  he  was  in  earnest  conversation.  There 
was  something  about  the  face  of  this  man  which,  at  the  first 
glance,  Nina  felt  to  be  very  repulsive.  He  was  low,  thick- 
set, and  yet  lean  ;  his  features  were  thin  and  sharp  ;  his 
hair  and  eyebrows  bushy  and  black,  and  a  pair  of  glassy, 
pale-blue  eyes  formed  a  peculiar  contrast  to  their  darkness. 
There  was  something  in  the  expression  of  the  eye  which 
struck  Nina  as  hard  and  cold.  Though  the  man  was 
habited  externally  as  a  gentleman,  there  was  still  about  him 
an  under-bred  appearance,  which  could  be  detected  at  the 
first  glance,  as  the  coarseness  of  some  woods  will  reveal 
themselves  through  every  varnish. 

"  Good-morrow,  Nina,"  said  her  brother,  drawing  his  horse 
up  to  meet  hers,  and  signing  to  his  companion  to  arrest  his, 
also.  "  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  my  friend  Mr.  Jekyl. 
We  are  going  out  to  visit  the  Belleville  plantation." 

"  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  ride  !  "  said  Nina.  And,  touch- 
ing her  horse,  she  passed  them  'n  a  moment. 

Looking  back  almost  fiercely,  a  moment,  she  turned  and 
said  to  Clayton  : 

"I  hate  that  man  !" 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  said  Clayton. 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  said  Nina.     "  I  never  saw  him  before. 
But  I  hate  him  !     He  is  a  bad  man  !     I  'd  as  soon  have  a 
serpent  come  near  me,  as  that  man  !  " 
16* 


186  TOM   GORDON. 

"  Well,  the  poor  fellow's  face  isn't  prepossessing,"  said 
Clayton.  "But  I  should  not  be  prepared  for  such  an 
anathema." 

"  Tom's  badness,"  continued  Nina,  speaking  as  if  she 
were  following  out  a  train  of  thought  without  regarding  her 
companion's  remark,  "is  good  turned  to  bad.  It's  wine 
turned  to  vinegar.  But  this  man  don't  even  know  what 
good  is  !  " 

"  IIoav  can  you  be  so  positive  about  a  person  that  you've 
only  seen  once  ?  "  said  Clayton. 

"  0,''  said  Nina,  resuming  her  usual  gay  tones,  "  don't 
you  know  that  girls  and  dogs,  and  other  inferior  creatures, 
have  the  gift  of  seeing  what 's  in  people  ?  It  does  n't 
belong  to  highly-cultivated  folks,  like  you,  but  to  us  poor 
creatures,  who  have  to  trust  to  our  instincts.  So,  beware  !  " 
And,  as  she  spoke,  she  turned  to  him  with  a  fascinating  air 
of  half-saucy  defiance. 

"Well,"  said  Clayton,  "have  you  seen,  then,  what  is 
in  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Nina,  with  energy  ;  "I  knew 
what  you  were  the  very  first  time  I  saw  you.  And  that 's 
the  reason  why  —  " 

Clayton  made  an  eager  gesture,  and  his  eye  met  hers  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  earnestness.  She  stopped,  and  blushed, 
and  then  laughed. 

"What,  Nina?" 

"  0,  well,  I  always  thought  you  were  a  grandfatherly 
body,  and  that  you  wouldn't  take  advantage  of  'us  girls/ 
as  some  of  the  men  do.  And  so  I've  treated  you  with 
confidence,  as  you  know.  I  had  just  the  same  feeling 
that  you  could  be  trusted,  as  I  have  that  that  other  fellow 
cannot !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Clayton,  "that  deduction  suits  me  so  well 
that  I  should  be  sorry  to  undermine  your  faith.  Neverthe- 
less, I  must  say  such  a  way  of  judging  is  n't  always  safe. 
Instinct  may  be  a  greater  matter  than  we  think ;  yet  it 
is  n't  infallible,  any  more  than  our  senses.     We  try  the  tes- 


TOM    GORDON.  187 

tirnoxiy  even  of  our  eyesight  by  reason.  It  will  deceive  us, 
if  we  don't.  Much  more  we  ought  to  try  this  more  subtle 
kind  of  sight." 

"  May  be  so/'  said  Nina  ;  "yet,  I  don't  think  I  shall  like 
that  man,  after  all.  But  I  '11  give  him  a  chance  to  alter  my 
feeling,  by  treating  him  civilly  if  Tom  brings  him  back  to 
dinner.     That's  th<">  best  I  can  do." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

AUNT   NESBIT'S   LOSS. 

On  entering  the  house,  Nina  was  met  at  the  door  by 
Milly,  with  a  countenance  of  some  anxiety. 

"  Miss  Nina/7  she  said,  "  your  aunt  has  heard  bad  news, 
this  morning." 

"  Bad  news  !  "  said  Nina,  quickly,  —  "what  ?  " 

"  Well,  honey,  ye  see  dere  has  been  a  lawyer  here,"  said 
Milly,  following  Nina  as  she  was  going  up  stairs;  "and 
she  has  been  shut  up  with  him  all  de  mornin'  ;  and  when  he 
come  out  I  found  her  taking  on  quite  dreadful !  And  she 
says  she  has  lost  all  her  property." 

"0!  is  that  all?"  said  Nina.  "I  didn't  know  what 
dreadful  thing  might  have  happened.  Why,  Milly,  this 
is  n't  so  very  bad.     She  hadn't  much  to  lose." 

"  0,  bless  you,  chile  !  nobody  wants  to  lose  all  they  got, 
much  or  little  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but,"  said  Nina,  "  you  know  she  can  always  live 
here  with  us  ;  and  what  little  money  she  wants  to  fuss  with, 
to  buy  new  caps,  and  paregoric  for  her  cough,  and  all  such 
little  matters,  we  can  give  her,  easily  enough." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Nina,  your  heart  is  free  enough  ;  you'd  give 
away  both  ends  of  the  rainbow,  if  you  had  'em  to  give. 
But  the  trouble  is,  chile,  you  have  n't  got  'em.  Why, 
chile,  dis  yer  great  place,  and  so  many  mouths  opened  to 
eat  and  eat,  chile,  I  tell  you  it  takes  heaps  to  keep  it 
a  going.  And  Harry,  I  tell  you,  finds  it  hard  work  to  bring 
it  even  all  the  year  round,  though  he  never  says  nothing  to 
you  about  his   troubles, — wants  you  always  to  walk  on 


AUNT   NESBIT'S   LOSS.  189 

flowers,  with  both  hands  full,  and  never  think  where  they 
come  from.  I  tell  you  what,  chile,  we  's  boun'  to  think  for 
you  a  little  ;  and  I  tell  you  what,  I  ?s  jist  a  going-  to  hire 
out." 

"  Why,  Milly,  how  ridiculous  !  " 

"It  an't  ridiculous,  now.  Why,  just  look  on  it,  Miss 
Nina.  Here's  Miss  Loo,  dat  7s  one;  here's  me,  dat's 
two;  here's  Polly,  —  great  grown  girl,  —  three;  dere 's 
Tomtit,  four  ;  all  on  us,  eating  your  bread,  and  not  bringing 
in  a  cent  to  you,  'cause  all  on  us  together  an't  done  much 
more  than  wait  on  Miss  Loo.  Why,  you 's  got  servants 
enough  of  your  own  to  do  every  turn  that  wants  doing  in 
dis  yer  house.  I  know,  Miss  Xina,  young  ladies  don't  like 
to  hear  about  dese  things  ;  but  the  fac'  is,  victuals  cost 
something-,  and  dere  must  be  some  on  us  to  bring  in  some- 
thing. Now,  dat  ar  gentleman  what  talked  with  your 
aunt,  he  said  he  could  find  me  a  right  good  place  up  dar  to 
the  town,  and  I  was  just  a  going.  Sally,  she  is  big  enough 
now  to  do  everything  that  I  have  been  used  to  doing  for 
Miss  Loo,  and  I  am  jest  a  going ;  besides,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  think  Miss  Loo  has  kind  o'  set  her  heart  upon  it. 
You  know  she  is  a  weakly  kind  of  thing,  —  don't  know  how 
to  do  much  'cept  sit  in  her  chair  and  groan.  She  has 
always  been  so  used  to  having  me  make  a  way  for  her  ;  and 
when  I  told  her  about  dis  yer,  she  kind  o'  brightened 
up." 

"  But,  Milly,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  can't  spare  you  at  ail," 
said  Nina. 

•'  Law  bless  you,  chile  !  don't  you  suppose  I 's  got  eyes  ? 
I  tell  you,  Miss  Xina,  I  looked  that  g  m'leman  over  pretty 
well  for  you,  and  my  opinion  is  he  'U  do.' 

"  0,  come,  you  hush  !  "  said  Xina. 

"You  see,  chile,  it  wouldn't  be  everybody  that  our 
people  would  be  willing  to  have  come  on  to  the  place,  here  ; 
but  there  an't  one  of  'em  that  would  n't  go  in  for  dis  yer, 
now  I  tell  you.  Dere  's  Old  Hundred,  as  you  calls  him, 
told  me  'twas  just  as  good  as  a  meeting  to  hear  him  read- 


190  '  AUNT  NESBIT'S   LOSS. 

ing  the  prayers  dat  ar  day  at  de  funeral.  Now,  you  see, 
I 's  seen  gen'lenien  handsome,  and  rich,  and  right  pleas- 
ant, too,  dat  de  people  would  n't  want  at  all ;  'cause  why  ? 
dey  has  dere  frolics  and  drinks,  and  de  money  flies  one 
way  for  dis  ting  and  one  way  for  dat,  till  by  and  by  it 's 
all  gone.  Den  comes  de  sheriff,  and  de  people  is  all 
sold,  some  one  way  and  some  another  way.  Now,  Mr. 
Clayton,  he  an't  none  of  dem." 

"  But,  Milly,  all  this  may  be  very  well  ;  but  if  I  couldn't 
love  him  ? " 

"Law  sakes,  Miss  Nina  !  You  look  me  in  the  face  and 
tell  me  dat  ar?  Why,  chile,  it's  plain  enough  to  see- 
through  you.  'T  is  so  !  The  people's  all  pretty  sure,  by 
this  time.  Sakes  alive,  we  7s  used  to  looking  out  for  the 
weather  ;  and  we  knows  pretty  well  what 's  coming.  And 
now,  Miss  Nina,  you  go  right  along  and  give  him  a  good 
word,  'cause  you  see,  dear  lamb,  you  need  a  good  husband 
to  take  care  of  you,  —  dat 's  what  you  want,  chile.  ■  Girls 
like  you  has  a  hard  life  being  at  the  head  of  a  place,  espe- 
cially your  brother  being  just  what  he  is.  Now,  if  you  had 
a  husband  here,  Mas'r  Tom  'ud  be  quiet,  'cause  he  knows 
he  could  n't  do  nothing.  But  just  as  long  as  you 's  alone 
he  '11  plague  you.  But,  now,  chile,  it 's  time  for  you  to 
be  getting  ready  for  dinner." 

"0,  but,  do  you  know,  Milly,"  said  Nina,  "I've  some- 
thing to  tell  you,  which  I  had  liked  to  have  forgotten  !  I 
have  been  out  to  the  Belleville  plantation,  and  bought 
Har  y's  wife." 

' '  You  has,  Miss  Nina  !  Why,  de  Lord  bless  you!  Why, 
Harry  was  dreadful  worked,  dis  yer  morning,  'bout  what 
Mas'r  Tom  said.     'Feared  like  he  was  most  crazy." 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  I  'v.  done  it.  I  've  got  the  receipt 
here." 

"  Why,  but,  chile,  where  alive  did  you  get  all  the  money 
to  pay  down  right  sudden  so  ?  " 

"Mr.  Clayton  lent  it  to  me,"  said  Nina. 

"Mr.  Clayton!     Now,  chile,  did  n't  I  tell  you  so  ?    Do 


AUNT  NESBIT'S   LOSS.  191 

you  suppose,  now,  you  M  a  let  him  lend  you  dat  ar  money 
if  you  hadn't  liked  him  ?  But,  come,  chile,  hurry  !  Dere  7s 
Mas'r  Tom  and  dat  other  gen'leman  coming  back,  and  you 
must  be  down  to  dinner." 

The  company  assembled  at  the  dinner-table  was  not 
particularly  enlivening.  Tom  Gordon,  who,  in  the  course 
of  his  morning  ride,  had  discovered  the  march  which  his 
sister  had  stolen  upon  him,  was  more  sulky  and  irritable 
than  usual,  though  too  proud  to  make  any  allusion  to  the 
subject.  Nina  was  annoyed  by  the  presence  of  Mr.  Jekyl, 
whom  her  brother  insisted  should  remain  to  dinner.  Aunt 
Nesbit  was  uncommonly  doleful,  of  course.  Clayton,  who, 
in  mixed  society,  generally  took  the  part  of  a  listener 
rather  than  a  talker,  said  very  little  ;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  Carson,  there  's  no  saying  whether  any  of  the  company 
could  have  spoken.  Every  kind  of  creature  has  its  uses, 
and  there  are  times  when  a  lively,  unthinking  chatterbox  is 
a  perfect  godsend.  Those  unperceiving  people,  who  never 
notice  the  embarrassment  of  others,  and  who  walk  with  the 
greatest  facility  into  the  gaps  of  conversation,  simply 
because  they  have  no  perception  of  any  difficulty  there, 
have  their  hour ;  and  Nina  felt  positively  grateful  to  Mr. 
Carson  for  the  continuous  and  cheerful  rattle  which  had  so 
annoyed  her  the  day  before.  Carson  drove  a  brisk  talk 
with  the  lawyer  about  the  value  of  property,  percentage, 
etc.  ;  he  sympathized  with  Aunt  Nesbit  on  her  last-caught 
cold  ;  rallied  Tom  on  his  preoccupation  ;  complimented  Nina 
on  her  improved  color  from  her  ride  ;  and  seemed  on  such 
excellent  terms  both  with  himself  and  everybody  else,  that 
the  thing  was  really  infectious. 

"  What  do  you  call  your  best  investments,  down  here, — 
land,  eh  ?  "  he  said  to  Mr.  Jekyl. 

Mr.  Jekyl  shook  his  head. 

"  Land  deteriorates  too  fast.  Besides,  there  's  all  the 
trouble  and  risk  of  overseers,  and  all  that.  I  we  looked  this 
thing  over  pretty  well,  and  I  always  invest  in  niggers." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Carson,  "  you  do  ?  " 


192      .  aunt  nesbit's  loss. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  invest  in  niggers;  that's  what  I  do;  and 
I  hire  them  out,  sir,  —  hire  them  out.  Why,  sir,  if  a  man 
has  a  knowledge  of  human  nature,  knows  where  to  buy  and 
when  to  buy,  and  watches  his  opportunity,  he  gets  a  better 
percentage  on  his  money  that  way  than  any  other.  Now,  that 
was  what  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Nesbit,  this  morning.  Say, 
now,  that  you  give  one  thousand  dollars  for  a  man,  —  and 
I  always  buy  the  best  sort,  that 's  economy, — well,  and 
he  gets  —  put  it  at  the  lowest  figure  —  ten  dollars  a 
month  wages,  and  his  living.  Well,  you  see  there,  that 
gives  you  a  pretty  handsome  sum  for  your  money.  I  have 
a  good  talent  of  buying.  I  generally  prefer  mechanics.  I 
have  got  now  working  forme  three  bricklayers.  I  own  two 
first-rate  carpenters,  and  last  month  I  bought  a  perfect 
jewel  of  a  blacksmith.  He  is  an  uncommonly  ingenious 
man  ;  a  fellow  that  will  make,  easy,  his  fifteen  dollars  a 
month  ;  and  he  is  the  more  valuable  because  he  has  been 
religiously  brought  up.  Why,  some  of  them,  now,  will  cheat 
you,  if  they  can  ;  but  this  fellow  has  been  brought  up  in  a 
district  where  they  have  a  missionary,  and  a  great  deal  of 
pains  has  been  taken  to  form  his  religious  principles. 
Now,  this  fellow  would  no  more  think  of  touching  a  cent 
of  his  earnings  than  he  would  of  stealing  right  out  of  my 
pocket.  I  tell  people  about  him,  sometimes,  when  I  find 
them  opposed  to  religious  instruction.  I  tell  them,  '  See 
there,  now  —  you  see  how  godliness  is  profitable  to  the  life 
that  now  is.'     You  know  the  Scriptures,  Mrs.  Nesbit  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "I  always  believed  in  reli- 
gious education." 

"  Confound  it  all !  "  said  Tom,  "  I  don't  I  I  don't  see  the 
use  of  making  a  set  of  hypocritical  sneaks  of  them!  I'd 
make  niggers  bring  me  my  money  ;  but,  hang  it  all,  if  he 
came  snuffling  to  me,  pretending  't  was  his  duty,  I  'd  choke 
him  !  They  never  think  so,  —they  don't,  and  they  can't, 
■ —  and  it 's  all  hypocrisy,  this  religious  instruction,  as  you 
call  it!" 

"No,  it  isn't,"  said  the  undiscouraged  Mr.  Jekyl,  "not 


AUNT    NESBIT'S    LOSS.  193 

when  you  found  it  on  right  principles.  Take  them  early 
enough,  and  work  them  right,  you  '11  get  it  ground  into 
them.  Now,  when  they  begun  religious  instruction,  there 
was  a  great  prejudice  against  it  in  our  part  of  the  country. 
You  see  they  were  afraid  that  the  niggers  would  get  uppish. 
Ah,  but  you  see  the  missionaries  are  pretty  careful ;  they 
put  it  in  strong  in  the  catechisms  about  the  rights  of  the 
master.  You  see  the  instruction  is  just  grounded  on  this, 
that  the  master  stands  in  God's  place  to  them." 

"  D— d  bosh  !  "  said  Tom  Gordon. 

Aunt  Nesbit  looked  across  the  table  as  if  she  were  going 
to  faint.  But  Mr.  Jekyl's  composure  was  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  interrupted. 

"I  can  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that,  in  a  business,  practical 
view, —  for  I  am  used  to  investments, —  that,  since  the  pub- 
lishing of  those  catechisms,  and  the  missionaries'  work 
among  the  niggers,  the  value  of  that  kind  of  property  has 
risen  ten  per  cent.  They  are  better  contented.  They  don't 
run  away,  as  they  used  to.  Just  that  simple  idea  that  their 
master  stands  in  God's  place  to  them.  Why,  you  see,  it 
cuts  its  way." 

"  I  have  a  radical  objection  to  all  that  kind  of  instruc- 
tion," said  Clayton. 

Aunt  Nesbit  opened  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  hardly 
believe  her  hearing. 

"And  pray  what  is  your  objection?"  said  Mr.  Jekyl, 
with  an  unmoved  countenance. 

"  My  objection  is  that  it  is  all  a  lie/'  said  Clayton,  in  such 
a  positive  tone  that  everybody  looked  at  him  with  a  start. 

Clayton  was  one  of  those  silent  men  who  are  seldom 
roused  to  talk,  but  who  go  with  a  rush  when  they  are.  Not 
seeming  to  notice  the  startled  looks  of  the  company,  he 
went  on  :  "  It 's  a  worse  lie,  because  it 's  told  to  bewilder  a 
simple,  ignorant,  confiding  creature.  I  never  could  con- 
ceive how  a  decent  man  could  ever  look  another  man  in  the 
face  and  say  such  things.  I  remember  reading,  in  one  of 
the  missionary  reports,  that  when  this  doctrine  was  first 
17 


194  AUNT   NESBIT'S   LOSS. 

propounded  in  an  assembly  of  negroes  somewhere,  all  the 
most  intelligent  of  them  got  up  and  walked  deliberately  out 
of  the  house  ;  and  I  honor  them  for  it." 

"  Good  for  them  ! "  said  Tom  Gordon.  "I  can  keep  my 
niggers  down  without  any  such  stuff  as  that ! " 

"  I  have  no  doubt/'  said  Clayton,  "that  these  mission- 
aries are  well-intending,  good  men,  and  that  they  actually 
think  the  only  way  to  get  access  to  the  negroes  at  all  is, 
to  be  very  positive  in  what  will  please  the  masters.  But 
I  think  they  fall  into  the  same  error  that  the  Jesuits  did 
when  they  adulterated  Christianity  with  idolatry  in  order  to 
get  admission  in  Japan.  A  lie  never  works  well  in  religion, 
nor  in  morals." 

"  That's  what  I  believe,"  said  Nina,  warmly. 

"  But,  then,  if  you  can't  teach  them  this,  what  can  you 
teach  them  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jekyl. 

"  Confound  it  all  !  "  said  Tom  Gordon,  "teach  them  that 
you  've  got  the  power  !  — teach  them  the  weight  of  your  fist ! 
That's  enough  for  them.  I  am  bad  enough,  I  know  ;  but 
I  can't  bear  hypocrisy.  I  show  a  fellow  my  pistol.  I  say 
to  him,  You  see  that,  sir  !  I  tell  him,  You  do  so  and  so,  and 
you  shall  have  a  good  time  with  me.  But,  you  do  that,  and 
I  '11  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life  !  That's  my  short 
method  with  niggers,  and  poor  whites,  too.  When  one  of 
these  canting  fellows  comes  round  to  my  plantation,  let  him 
see  what  he  '11  get,  that 's  all !  " 

Mr.  Jekyl  appeared  properly  shocked  at  this  declaration. 
Aunt  Nesbit  looked  as  if  it  was  just  what  she  had  expected, 
and  went  on  eating  her  potato  with  a  mournful  air,  as  if 
nothing  could  surprise  her.  Nina  looked  excessively  an- 
noyed, and  turned  a  sort  of  appealing  glance  upon  Clayton. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Clayton,  "I  base  my  religious  in- 
struction to  my  people  on  the  ground  that  every  man  and 
every  woman  must  give  an  account  of  themselves  to  God 
alone ;  and  that  God  is  to  be  obeyed  first,  and  before 
me." 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Jekyl,    "that  would  be  destructive 


AUNT   NESBIT'S   LOSS.  195 

of  all  discipline.  If  you  are  going  to  allow  every  fellow 
to  judge  for  himself,  among  a  parcel  of  ignorant,  selfish 
wretches,  what  the  will  of  God  is,  one  will  think  it's  one 
thing,  another  will  think  it  ;s  another  ;  and  there  will  be  an 
end  of  all  order.  It  would  be  absolutely  impossible  to 
govern  a  place  in  that  way." 

"  They  must  not  be  left  an  ignorant  set,"  said  Clayton. 
"  They  must  be  taught  to  read  the  Scriptures  for  them- 
selves, and  be  able  to  see  that  my  authority  accords  with 
it.  If  I  command  anything  contrary  to  it,  they  ought  to 
oppose  it !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  should  like  to  see  a  plantation  managed  in  that 
way  !  "  said  Tom  Gordon,  scornfully. 

"  Please  God,  you  shall  see  such  an  one,  if  you  '11  come  to 
mine,"  said  Clayton,  "  where  I  should  be  very  happy  to 
see  you,  sir." 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  said  was  so  frank  and  sin- 
cere, that  Tom  was  silenced,  and  could  not  help  a  rather 
sullen  acknowledgment. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Jekyl,  "that  you'll  find  such  a 
course,  however  well  it  may  work  at  first,  will  fail  at  last. 
You  begin  to  let  people  think,  and  they  won't  stop  where 
you  want  them  to  ;  they  '11  go  too  far  ;  it 's  human  nature. 
The  more  you  give,  the  more  you  may  give.  You  once  get 
your  fellows  to  thinking,  and  asking  all  sorts  of  questions, 
and  they  get  discontented  at  once.  I  've  seen  that  thing 
tried  in  one  or  two  instances,  and  it  did  n't  turn  out  well. 
Fellows  got  restless  and  discontented.  The  more  was 
given  to  them,  the  more  dissatisfied  they  grew,  till  finally 
they  put  for  the  free  states." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Clayton  ;  "if  that's  to  be  the  result, 
they  may  all  'put'  as  soon  as  they  can  get  ready.  If  my 
title  to  them  won't  bear  an  intelligent  investigation,  I  don't 
wish  to  keep  them.  But  I  never  will  consent  to  keep  them 
by  making  false,  statements  to  them  in  the  name  of  religion, 
and  presuming  to  put  myself  as  an  object  of  obedience 
before  my  Maker." 


196  aunt  nesbit's  loss. 

"  I  think/'  said  Mr.  Carson,  "Mr.  Clayton  shows  an  ex- 
cellent spirit  —  excellent  spirit!  On  my  word,  I  think  so. 
I  wish  some  of  our  northern  agitators,  who  make  such  a 
fuss  on  the  subject,  could  hear  him.  I  'm  always  disgusted 
with  these  abolitionists  producing  such  an  unpleasantness 
between  the  north  and  the  south,  interrupting  trade,  and 
friendship,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  He  shows  an  excellent  spirit,7'  said  Mr.  Jekyl ;  "but 
I  must  think  he  is  mistaken,  if  he  thinks  that  he  can  bring 
up  people  in  that  way,  under  our  institutions,  and  not  do 
them  more  harm  than  good.  It 's  a  notorious  fact  that 
the  worst  insurrections  have  arisen  from  the  reading  of  the 
Bible  by  these  ignorant  fellows.  That  was  the  case  with 
Nat  Turner,  in  Virginia.  That  was  the  case  with  Denmark 
Vesey,  and  his  crew,  in  South  Carolina.  I  tell  you,  sir,  it 
will  never  do,  this  turning  out  a  set  of  ignorant  people  to 
pasture  in  the  Bible  !  That  blessed  book  is  a  savor  of  life 
unto  life  when  it's  used  right;  but  it's  a  savor  of  death 
unto  death  when  ignorant  people  take  hold  of  it.  The 
proper  way  is  this  :  administer  such  portions  only  as  these 
creatures  are  capable  of  understanding.  This  admirable 
system  of  religious  instruction  keeps  the  matter  in  our  own 
hands,  by  allowing  us  to  select  for  them  such  portions  of 
the  word  as  are  best  fitted  to  keep  them  quiet,  dutiful,  and 
obedient ;  and  I  venture  to  predict  that  whoever  under- 
takes to  manage  a  plantation  on  any  other  system  will 
soon  find  it  getting  out  of  his  hands." 

"  So  you  are  afraid  to  trust  the  Lord's  word  without 
holding  the  bridle!"  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer.  "That's 
pretty  well  for  you  !  " 

"  /  am  not !  "  said  Clayton.  "  I  'm  willing  to  resign  any 
rights  to  any  one  that  I  am  not  able  to  defend  in  God's 
word  —  any  that  I  cannot  make  apparent  to  any  man's 
cultivated  reason.  I  scorn  the  idea  that  I  must  dwarf  a 
man's  mind,  and  keep  him  ignorant  and  childish,  in  order 
to  make  him  believe  any  lie  I  choose  to  tell  him  about  my 
rights  over  him  !     I  intend  to  have  an  educated,  intelligent 


AUNT    NESBIT'S    LOSS.  197 

people,  who  shall  submit  to  me  because  they  think  it  clearly 
for  their  best  interests  to  do  so  ;  because  they  shall  feel 
that  what  I  command  is  right  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"  It 's  my  opinion,"  said  Tom,  "  that  both  these  ways  of 
managing  are  humbugs.  One  way  makes  hypocrites,  and 
the  other  makes  rebels.  The  best  way  of  educating  is,  to 
show  folks  that  they  can't  help  themselves.  All  the  fussing 
and  arguing  in  the  world  is  n't  worth  one  dose  of  certainty 
on  that  point.  Just  let  them  know  that  there  are  no  two 
ways  about  it,  and  you  '11  have  all  still  enough." 

From  this  point  the  conversation  was  pursued  with  con- 
siderable warmth,  till  Nina  and  Aunt  Nesbit  rose  and  retired 
to  the  drawing-room.  Perhaps  it  did  not  materially  discour- 
age Clayton,  in  the  position  he  had  taken,  that  Nina,  with  the 
frankness  usual  to  her,  expressed  the  most  eager  and  undis- 
guised admiration  of  all  that  he  said. 

"Didn't  he  talk  beautifully?  Wasn't  it  noble?"  she 
said  to  Aunt  Nesbit,  as  she  came  in  the  drawing-room. 
"  And  that  hateful  Jekyl !  is  n't  he  mean  ?  " 

"Child!"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  "I'm  surprised  to  hear 
you  speak  so  !  Mr.  Jekyl  is  a  very  respectable  lawyei",  an 
elder  in  the  church,  and  a  very  pious  man.  He  has  given 
me  some  most  excellent  advice  about  my  affairs  ;  and  he  is 
going  to  take  Milly  with  him,  and  find  her  a  good  place. 
He  's  been  making  some  investigations,  Nina,  and  he 's 
going  to  talk  to  you  about  them,  after  dinner.  He  's  dis- 
covered that  there  's  an  estate  in  Mississippi  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  that  ought  property  to  come  to  you  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  "  said  Nina.  "  Don't  like 
the  man  !  — think  he  is  hateful !  —  don't  want  to  hear  any- 
thing he  has  to  say  !  —  don't  believe  in  him  !  " 

"  Nina,  how  often  I  have  warned  you  against  such  sud- 
den prejudices  —  against  such  a  good  man,  too  !  " 

"  You  won't  make  me  believe  he  is  good,  not  if  he  were 
elder  in  twenty  churches  !  " 

"  Well,  but,  child,  at  any  rate  you  must  listen  to  what 
he  has  got  to  say.  Your  brother  will  be  very  angry  if  you 
11* 


198  aunt  nesbit's  loss. 

don't ;  and  it 's  really  very  important.  At  any  rate,  you 
ought  not  to  offend  Tom,  when  you  can  help  it." 

"That's  true  enough,"  said  Nina  ;  "and  I '11  hear,  and 
try  and  behave  as  well  as  I  can.  I  hope  the  man  will  go, 
some  time  or  other  !  I  don't  know  why,  hut  his  talk  makes 
me  feel  worse  than  Tom's  swearing  !     That 's  certain." 

Aunt  Nesbit  looked  at  Nina  as  if  she  considered  her  in  a 
most  hopeless  condition. 


CHAPTER    XY. 

MR.    JEKYL'S    OPINIONS. 

After  the  return  of  the  gentlemen- to  the  drawing-room, 
Nina,  at  the  request  of  Tom,  followed  him  and  Mr.  Jekyl 
into  the  library. 

"  Mr.  Jekyl  is  going  to  make  some  statements  to  us, 
Nina,  about  our  property  in  Mississippi,  which,  if  they  turn 
out  as  he  expects,  will  set  us  up  in  the  world,"  said  Tom. 

Nina  threw  herself  carelessly  into  the  leathern  arm-chair 
by  the  window,  and  looked  out  of  it. 

"You  see,"  said  Mr.  Jekyl,  also  seating  himself,  and 
pulling  out  the  stiff  points  of  his  collar,  "  having  done  law 
business  for  your  father,  and  known,  in  that  way,  a  good 
deal  about  the  family  property,  I  have  naturally  always  felt 
a  good  deal  of  interest  in  it ;  and  you  remember  your 
father's  sister,  Mrs.  Stewart,  inherited,  on  the  death  of  her 
husband,  a  fine  estate  in  Mississippi." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Tom,  —  "  well,  go  on." 

"Well,  she  died,  and  left  it  all  to  her  son.  Well,  he,  it 
seems,  like  some  other  young  men,  lived  in  a  very  repre- 
hensible union  with  a  handsome  quadroon  girl,  who  was  his 
mother's  maid  ;  and  she,  being  an  artful  creature,  I  suppose, 
as  a  great  many  of  them  are,  got  such  an  ascendency  over 
him,  that  he  took  her  up  to  Ohio,  and  married  her,  and  lived 
there  with  her  some  years,  and  had  two  children  by  her. 
Well,  you  see,  he  had  a  deed  of  emancipation  recorded  for 
her  in  Mississippi,  and,  just  taking  her  into  Ohio,  set  her 
free  by  the  laws  of  that  state.  Well,  you  see,  he  thought 
he  'd  fixed  it  so  that  the  thing  could  n't  be  undone,  and  she 


200  MR.  jekyl's  opinions. 

thought  so  too  ;  and  I  understand  she  's  a  pretty  shrewd 
woman — has  a  considerable  shave  of  character,  or  else  she 
would  n't  have  done  just  what  she  has  ;  for,  you  see,  he 
died  about  six  months  ago,  and  left  the  plantation  and  all 
the  properly  to  her  and  her  children,  and  she  has  been  so 
secm*e  that  she  has  actually  gone  and  taken  possession. 
You  see,  she  is  so  near  white,  you  must  know  that  there 
is  n't  one  in  twenty  would  think  what  she  was, —  and  the 
people  round  there,  actually,  some  of  them,  had  forgotten 
all  about  it,  and  did  n't  know  but  what  she  was  a  white 
woman  from  Ohio  ;  and  so,  you  see,  the  thing  never  would 
have  been  looked  into  at  all,  if  I  had  n't  happened  to  have 
Deen  down  there.  But,  you  see,  she  turned  off  an  overseer 
that  had  managed  the  place,  because  the  people  complained 
of  him  ;  and  I  happened  to  fall  in  with  the  man,  and  he  began 
telling  me  his  story,  and,  after  a  little  inquiry,  I  found  who 
these  people  were.  Well,  sir,  I  just  went  to  one  of  the  first 
lawyers,  for  I  suspected  there  was  false  play ;  and  we  looked 
over  the  emancipation  laws  together,  and  we  found  out  that, 
as  the  law  stood,  the  deed  of  emancipation  was  no  more  than 
so  much  waste  paper.  And  so,  you  see,  she  and  tier  chil- 
dren are  just  as  much  slaves  as  any  on  her  plantation  ;  and 
the  whole  property,  which  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  belongs  to  your  family.  I  rode  out  with  him,  and 
looked  over  the  place,  and  got  introduced  to  her  and  her 
children,  and  looked  them  over.  Considered  as  property,  I 
should  call  them  a  valuable  lot.  She  is  past  forty,  but  she 
don't  look  older  than  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight,  I  should 
say.  She  is  a  very  good-looking  woman,  and  then,  I  'm 
told,  a  very  capable  woman.  Well,  her  price  in  the  market 
might  range  between  one  thousand  and  fifteen  hundred 
dollars.  Smalley  said  he  had  seen  no  better  article  sold 
for  two  thousand  dollars;  but,  then,  he. said,  they  had  to 
give  a  false  certificate  as  to  the  age,  —  and  that  I  could  n't 
hear  of,  for  I  never  countenance  anything  like  untruth. 
Then,  the  woman's  children  :  she  has  got  two  fine-looking 
children  as  I  have  ever  seen  —  almost  white.     The  boy  is 


MR.  jekyl's  opinions.  201 

about  ton  years  old  ;  the  little  girl,  about  four.  You  may 
be  sure  I  was  pretty  careful  not  to  let  on,  because  I  con- 
sider the  woman  and  children  are  an  important  part  of  the 
property,  and,  of  course,  nothing-  had  better  be  said  about 
it,  lest  she  should  be  off  before  we  are  ready  to  come  clown 
on  them.  Now,  you  see,  you  Gordons  are  the  proper  owners 
of  this  whole  property:  there  is  n't  the  slightest  doubt  in 
my  mind  that  you  ought  to  put  in  your  claim  immediately. 
The  act  of  emancipation  was  contrary  to  law,  and,  though 
the  man  meant  well,  yet  it  amounted  to  a  robbery  of  the 
heirs.  I  declare,  it  rather  raised  my  indignation  to  see  that 
creature  so  easy  in  the  possession  of  property  which  of  right 
belongs  to  you.  Now,  if  I  have  only  the  consent  of  the 
heirs,  I  can  go  on  and  commence  operations  immediately." 

Nina  had  been  sitting  regarding  Mr.  Jekyl  with  a  fixed 
and  determined  expression  of  countenance.  When  he  had 
finished,  she  said  to  him, 

"Mr.  Jekyl,  I  understand  you  are  an  elder  in  the 
church  ;  is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Gordon,  I  have  that  privilege,"  said  Mr. 
Jekyl,  his  sharp,  business  tone  subsiding  into  a  sigh. 

"Because,"  said  Nina,  "I  am  a  wild  young  girl,  and 
don't  profess  to  know  much  about  religion  ;  but  I  want  you 
to  tell  me,  as  a  Christian,  if  you  think  it  would  be  right  to 
take  this  woman  and  children,  and  her  property." 

"  Why,  certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Gordon  ;  is  n't  it  right 
that  every  one  should  have  his  own  property  ?  I  view  things 
simply  with  the  eye  of  the  law ;  and,  in  the  eye  of  the  law, 
that  woman  and  her  children  are  as  much  your  property 
as  the  shoe  on  your  foot ;  there  is  no  manner  of  doubt 
of  it." 

"I  should  think,"  said  Nina,  "that  you  might  see  with 
the  eye  of  the  Gospel,  sometimes !  Do  you  think,  Mr. 
Jekyl,  that  doing  this  is  doing  as  I  should  wish  to  be  done 
by,  if  I  were  in  the  place  of  this  woman  ?  " 

"My  dear  Miss  Gordon,  young  ladies  of  fine  feeling,  at 
your  time  of  life,  are  often  confused  on  this  subject  by  a 


202  MR.  jekyl's  opinions. 

wrong  application  of  the  Scripture  language.  Suppose  I 
were  a  robber,  and  had  possession  of  your  property  ?  Of 
course,  I  shouldn't  wish  to  be  made  to  give  it  up.  But 
would  it  follow  that  the  golden  rule  obliged  the  lawful  pos- 
sessor not  to  take  it  from  me  ?  This  woman  is  your  prop- 
erty ;  this  estate  is  your  property,  and  she  is  holding  it  as 
unlawfully  as  a  robber.  Of  course,  she  won't  want  to  give 
it  up  ;  but  right  is  right,  notwithstanding." 

Like  many  other  young  persons,  Nina  could  feel  her  way 
out  of  a  sophistry  much  sooner  than  she  could  think  it  out ; 
and  she  answered  to  all  this  reasoning, 

"  After  all,  I  can't  think  it  would  be  right." 

"0,  confound  the  humbug!"  said  Tom,  "who  cares 
whether  it  is  right  or  not?  The  fact  is,  Nin,  to  speak 
plain  sense  to  you,  you  and  I  both  are  deuced  hard  up  for 
money,  and  want  all  we  can  get ;  and  what 's  the  use  of 
being  more  religious  than  the  very  saints  themselves  at  our 
time  of  day  ?  Mr.  Jekyl  is  a  pious  man  —  one  of  the  tallest 
kind  !  lie  thinks  this  is  all  right,  and  why  need  we  set 
ourselves  all  up  ?  Ho  has  talked  with  Uncle  John,  and  he 
goes  in  for  it.  As  for  my  part,  I  am  free  to  own  I  don't 
care  whether  it 's  right  or  not !  I  '11  do  it  if  I  can.  Might 
makes  right,  —  that 's  my  doctrine  !  " 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Jekyl,  "I  have  examined  the  subject, 
and  I  have  n't  the  slightest  doubt  that  slavery  is  a  divinely- 
appointed  institution,  and  that  the  rights  of  the  masters 
are  sanctioned  by  God  ;  so,  however  much  I  may  naturally 
feel  for  this  woman,  whose  position  is,  I  must  say,  an  un- 
fortunate one,  still  it  is  my  duty  to  see  that  the  law  is  prop- 
erly administered  in  the  case." 

"  All  I  have  to  say,  Mr.  Jekyl,"  said  Nina,  "is  just  this  : 
that  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  this  matter  ;  for,  if  I 
can't  prove  it 's  wrong,  I  shall  always  feel  it  is." 

"  Nina,  how  ridiculous  !  "  said  Tom. 

"I  have  said  my  say,"  said  Nina,  as  she  rose  and  left 
the  room. 


ME.  jekyl's  opinions.  203 

"Very  natural, — fine  feelings,  but  uninstructed,"  said 
Mr.  Jekyl. 

"  Certainly,  we  pious  folks  know  a  trick  worth  two  of 
that,  don't  we?"  said  Tom.  "I  say,  Jekyl,  tins  sister 
of  mine  is  a  pretty  rapid  little  case,  I  can  tell  you,  as  you 
saw  by  the  way  she  circumvented  us,  this  morning'.  She  is 
cpuite  capable  of  upsetting  the  whole  dish,  unless  we  go 
about  it  immediately.  You  see,  her  pet  nigger,  this  Harry, 
is  this  woman's  brother  ;  and  if  she  gave  him  the  word, 
he  'd  write  at  once,  and  put  her  on  the  alarm.  You  and  I 
had  better  start  off  to-morrow,  before  this  Harry  comes 
back.  I  believe  he  is  to  be  gone  a  few  days.  It 's  no  matter 
whether  she  consents  to  the  suit  or  not.  She  don't  need 
to  know  anything  about  it." 

"Well,"  said  Jekyl,  "I  advise  you  to  go  right  on,  and 
have  the  woman  and  children  secured.  It 's  a  perfectly  fair, 
legal  proceeding.  There  has  been  an  evident  evasion  of 
the  law  of  the  state,  by  means  of  which  your  family  are 
defrauded  of  an  immense  sum.  At  all  events,  it  will  be 
tried  in  an  open  court  of  justice,  and  she  will  be  allowed  to 
appear  by  her  counsel.  It 's  a  perfectly  plain,  above-board 
proceeding  ;  and,  as  the  young  lady  has  shown  such  fine 
feelings,  there  's  the  best  reason  to  suppose  that  the  fate 
of  this  ■*  oman  would  be  as  good  in  her  hands  as  in  her 
own." 

Mr.  J(  kyl  was  not  now  talking  to  convince  Tom  Gor- 
don, but  himself;  for,  spite  of  himself,  Nina's  questions 
had  awakened  in  his  mind  a  sufficient  degree  of  misgiving 
to  make  H  necessary  for  him  to  pass  in  review  the  argu- 
ments hv  which  he  generally  satisfied  himself.  Mr.  Jekyl 
was  a  tl  vologian,  and  a  man  of  principle.  His  metaphysi- 
cal talf  _it,  indeed,  made  him  a  point  of  reference  among 
nis  Christian  brethren  ;  and  he  spent  much  of  his  leisure 
time  in  reading  theological  treatises.  His  favorite  subject 
of  all  was  the  nature  of  true  virtue  ;  and  this,  he  had  fixed 
in  his  mind,  consisted  in  a  love  of  the  greatest  good.  Ac- 
c       ing'  to  his  theology,   right   consisted  in  creating  the 


204  MR.  jekyl's  opinions. 

greatest  amount  of  happiness ;  and  every  creature  had 
rights  to  be  happy  in  proportion  to  his  capacity  of  enjoy- 
ment or  being.  He  whose  capacity  was  ten  pounds  had  a 
right  to  place  his  own  happiness  before  that  of  him  who 
had  five,  because,  in  that  way,  five  pounds  more  of  hap- 
piness would  exist  in  the  general  whole.  He  considered 
the  right  of  the  Creator  to  consist  in  the  fact  that  he  had  a 
greater  amount  of  capacity  than  all  creatures  put  together, 
and,  therefore,  was  bound  to  promote  his  own  happiness 
before  all  of  them  put  together.  He  believed  that  the  Cre- 
ator made  himself  his  first  object  in  all  that  he  did  ;  and, 
descending  from  him,  all  creatures  were  to  follow  the  same 
rule,  in  proportion  to  their  amount  of  being;  the  greater 
capacity  of  happiness  always  taking  precedence  of  the  less. 
Thus,  Mr.  Jekyl  considered  that  the  Creator  brought  into 
the  world  yearly  myriads  of  human  beings  with  no  other 
intention  than  to  make  them  everlastingly  miserable  ;  and 
that  this  was  right,  because,  his  capacity  of  enjoyment  being 
greater  than  all  theirs  put  together,  he  had  a  right  to  gratify 
himself  in  this  way. 

Mr.  Jekyl's  belief  in  slavery  was  founded  on  his  theol- 
ogy. He  assumed  that  the  white  race  had  the  largest 
amount  of  being  ;  therefore,  it  had  a  right  to  take  prece- 
dence of  the  black.  On  this  point  he  held  long  and  severe 
arguments  with  his  partner,  Mr.  Israel  McFogg,  who,  be- 
longing to  a  different  school  of  theology,  referred  the  whole 
matter  to  no  natural  fitness,  but  to  a  divine  decree,  by  which 
it  pleased  the  Creator  in  the  time  of  Noah  to  pronounce  a 
curse  upon  Canaan.  The  fact  that  the  African  race  did  not 
descend  from  Canaan  was,  it  is  true,  a  slight  difficulty  in 
the  chain  of  the  argument :  but  theologians  are  daily  in  the 
habit  of  surmounting  much  greater  ones.  Either  way, 
whether  by  metaphysical  fitness  or  Divine  decree,  the  two 
partners  attained  the  same  practical  result. 

Mr.  Jekyl,  though  a  coarse-grained  man,  had  started 
from  the  hands  of  nature  no  more  hard-hearted  or  unfeeling 
than  many  others  ;    but  his  mind,  having  for  years  been 


MR.  jekyl's  opinions.  205 

immersed  in  the  waters  of  law  and  theology,  had  slowly 
petrified  into  such  a  steady  consideration  of  the  greatest 
general  good,  that  he  was  wholly  inaccessible  to  any  emo- 
tion of  particular  humanity.  The  trembling,  eager  tone  of 
pity,  in  which  Xina  had  spoken  of  the  woman  and  children 
who  were  about  to  be  made  victims  of  a  legal  process,  had 
excited  but  a  moment's  pause. __  What  considerations  of  tem- 
poral loss  and  misery  can  shake  the  constancy  of  the  theo- 
logian who  lias  accustomed  himself  to  contemplate  and 
discuss,  as  a  cool  intellectual  exercise,  the  eternal  misery 
of  generations  ?  —  who  worships  a  God  that  creates  myri- 
ads only  to  glorify  himself  in  their  eternal  torments  ? 
18 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

milly's  stoey. 

Nina  spent  the  evening  in  the  drawing-room  ;  and  her 
brother,  in  the  animation  of  a  new  pursuit,  forgetful  of  the 
difference  of  the  morning,  exerted  himself  to  be  agreeable, 
and  treated  her  with  more  consideration  and  kindness  than 
he  had  done  any  time  since  his  arrival.  He  even  made  some 
off-hand  advances  towards  Clayton,  which  the  latter  received 
with  good-humor,  and  which  went  further  than  she  supposed 
to  raise  the  spirits  of  Nina  ;  and  so,  on  the  whole,  she 
passed  a  more  than  usually  agreeable  evening.  On  retiring 
to  her  room,  she  found  Milly,  who  had  been  for  some  time 
patiently  waiting  for  her,  having  despatched  her  mistress 
to  bed  some  time  since. 

"  Well,  Miss  Nina,  I  am  going  on  my  travels  in  the  morn- 
ing. Thought  I  must  have  a  little  time  to  see  you,  lamb, 
'fore  I  goes." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  ge,  Milly  !  I  don't  like  that 
man  you  are  going  with." 

"I  spects  he's  a  nice  man,"  said  Milly.  "Of  course 
he  '11  look  me  out  a  nice  place,  because  he  has  always  took 
good  care  of  Miss  Loo's  affairs.  So  you  never  trouble 
yourself  'bout  me  !  I  tell  you,  chile,  I  never  gets  where  I 
can't  find  de  Lord  ;  and  when  I  finds  Him,  I  gets  along. 
'  De  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want.'  " 

"  But  you  have  never  been  used  to  living  except  in  our 
family,"  said  Nina,  "  and,  somehow,  I  feel  afraid.  If  they 
don't  treat  you  well,  come  back,  Milly  ;  will  you  ?  " 

"  Laws,  chile,  I  is  n't  much  feared  but  what  I  '11  get  along 


milly's  story.  207 

well  enough.  When  people  keep  about  dere  business,  do- 
ing the  best  dey  ken,  folks  does  n't  often  trouble  clem.  I 
never  yet  seed  de  folks  I  could  n't  suit,"  she  added,  with  a 
glow  of  honest  pride.  "  No,  chile,  it  is  n't  for  myself  I 's 
fearing  ;  it 's  just  for  you,  chile.  Chile,  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  live  in  dis  yer  world,  and  I  wants  you  to  get 
de  Best  Friend  to  go  with  you.  Why,  dear  lamb,  you  wants 
somebody  to  go  to  and  open  your  heart ;  somebody  dat  '11 
love  you,  and  always  stand  by  you  ;  somebody  dat  '11 
always  lead  you  right,  you  know.  You  has  more  cares  than 
such  a  young  thing  ought  for  to  have  ;  great  many  looking 
to  you,  and  'pending  on  you.  Now,  if  your  ma  was  alive, 
it  would  be  different:  but,  just  now,  I  see  how  'tis; 
dere  '11  be  a  hundred  things  you  '11  be  thinking  and  feeling, 
and  nobody  to  say  'em  to.  And  now,  chile,  you  must  learn 
to  go  to  de  Lord.  Why,  chile,  he  loves  you  !  Chile,  he 
loves  you  just  as  you  be;  if  you  only  saw  how  much,  it 
would  melt  your  heart  right  down.  I  told  you  I  was  going 
some  time  fur  to  tell  you  my  sperience  —  how  I  first  found 
Jesus.     0  Lord,  Lord  !  but  it  is  a  long  story. ,J 

Nina,  whose  quick  sympathies  were  touched  by  the 
earnestness  of  her  old  friend,  and  still  more  aroused  by  the 
allusion  to  her  mother,  answered, 

"  0,  yes,  come,  tell  me  about  it !  "  And,  drawing  a  low 
ottoman,  she.  sat  down,  and  laid  her  head  on  the  lap  of  her 
humble  friend. 

"Well,  well,  you  seef chile,"  said  Milly,  her  large,  dark 
eyes  fixing  themselves  on  vacancy,  and  speaking  in  a  slow 
and  dreamy  voice,  "a  body's  life,  in  dis  yer  world,  is  a 
mighty  strange  thing!  You  see,  chile,  my  mother  —  well, 
dey  brought  her  from  Africa ;  my  father,  too.  Heaps  and 
heaps  my  mother  has  told  me  about  dat  ar.  Dat  ar  was  a 
mighty  fine  country,  where  dey  had  gold  in  the  rivers, 
and  such  great,  big,  tall  trees,  with  de  strangest  beautiful 
flowers  on  them  you  ever  did  see  !  Laws,  laws  !  well,  dey 
brought  my  mother  and  my  father  into  Charleston,  and  dere 
Mr.  Campbell, — dat  was   your   ma's  father,   honey,  —  he 


208  milly's  story. 

bought  dem  right  out  of  de  ship  ;  but  dey  had  five  chil- 
dren, and  dey  was  all  sold,  and  dey  never  knowed  where 
they  went  to.  Father  and  mother  could  n't  sjjeak  a  word 
of  English  when  dey  come  ashore  ;  and  she  told  me  often 
how  she  could  n't  speak  a  word  to  nobody,  to  tell  'em  how 
it  hurt  her. 

"Laws,  when  I  was  a  chile,  I  'member  how  often,  when 
de  day's  work  was  done,  she  used  to  come  out  and  sit  and 
look  up  at  de  stars,  and  groan,  groan,  and  groan  !  I  was 
a  little  thing,  playing  round  ;  and  I  used  to  come  up  to  her, 
dancing,  and  saying, 

"  '  Mammy,  what  makes  you  groan  so  ?  what 's  de  mat- 
ter of  you  ?  ' 

"  '  Matter  enough,  chile  ! '  she  used  to  say.  'I'sa  think- 
ing of  my  poor  children.  I  likes  to  look  at  the  stars,  be- 
cause dey  sees  the  same  stars  dat  I  do.  'Pears  like  we  was 
in  one  room  ;  but  I  don't  know  where  dey  is  !  Dey  don't 
know  where  I  be  ! ' 

"  Den  she  'd  say  to  me, 

"  '  Now,  chile,  you  may  be  sold  away  from  3'our  mammy. 
Der  's  no  knowing  what  may  happen  to  you,  chile  ;  but,  if 
you  gets  into  any  trouble,  as  I  does,  you  mind,  chile,  you  ask 
God  to  help  you.' 

"  '  Who  is  God,  mammy,'  says  I,  '  any  how  ?  ' 

"  <  Why,  chile,'  says  she,  '  he  made  dese  yer  stars.' 

"  And  den  I  wanted  mammy  to  tell  me  more  about  it ; 
only  she  says, 

"  '  He  can  do  anything  he  likes  ;  and,  if  ye  are  in  any 
kind  of  trouble,  he  can  help  you.' 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  I  did  n't  mind  much  about  it  —  all 
dancing  round,  because  pretty  well  don't  need  much  help. 
But  she  said  dat  ar  to  me  so  many  times,  I  could  n't  help 
'member  it.  Chile,  troubles  will  come ;  and,  when  dey 
does  come,  you  ask  God,  and  he  will  help  you. 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  I  was  n't  sold  from  her,  but  she  was 
took  from  me,  because  Mr.  Campbell's  brother  went  off  to 
live  in  Orleans,  and  parted  de  hands.     My  father  and  mother 


milly's  story.  209 

was  took  to  Orleans,  and  I  was  took  to  Virginny.  Well, 
you  see,  I  growed  up  along  with  de  young'  ladies,  —  your 
ma,  Miss  Harrit,  Miss  Loo,  and  de  rest  on  'em,  —  and  I  had 
heaps  of  fun.  Dey  ail  like  Milly.  Dey  could  n't  nobody 
run,  nor  jump,  nor  ride  a  horse,  nor  row  a  boat,  like  Milly  ; 
and  su  it  was  Milly  here,  and  Milly  dere,  and  whatever  de 
young-  ladies  wanted,  it  was  Milly  made  de  way  for  it. 

"  Well,  dere  was  a  great  difference  among  dem  young 
ladies.  Dere  was  Miss  Loo  —  she  was  de  prettiest,  and 
she  had  a  great  many  beaux  ;  but,  den,  dere  was  your  ma 
—  everybody  loved  her  ;  and  den  dere  was  Miss  Harrit  — 
she  had  right  smart  of  life  in  her,  and  was  always  for  doing 
something  —  always  right  busy 'tending  to  something  or 
other,  and  she  liked  me  because  I  'd  always  go  in  with  her. 
Well,  well !  dem  dar  was  pleasant  times  enough ;  but  when 
I  got  to  be  about  fourteen  or  fifteen,  I  began  to  feel  kind 
o'  bad  —  sort  of  strange  and  heavy.  I  really  did  n't  know 
why,  but  'pcared  like  's  when  I  got  older,  I  felt  I  was  in 
bondage. 

"  'Member  one  day  your  ma  came  in,  and  seed  me  looking 
out  of  window,  and  she  says  to  me, 

"  '  Milly,  what  makes  you  so  dull  lately  ?  ' 

"  '  0/  says  I,  '  I,  somehow,  I  don't  have  good  times.' 

"'Why?'  says  she;  'why  not?  Don't  everybody 
make  much  of  you,  and  don't  you  have  everything  that  you 
want  ?  ' 

"  0,  well,'  says  I,  '  missis,  I 's  a  poor  slave-girl,  for  all 
dat,' 

"  Chile,  your  ma  was  a  weety  thing,  like  you.  I  'member 
just  how  she  looked  dat  minute.  I  felt  sorry,  'cause  I 
thought  I  'd  hurt  her  feelings.     But  says  she, 

"  '  Milly,  I  don't  wonder  you  feel  so.  I  know  I  should 
feel  so,  myself,  if  I  was  in  your  place.' 

"  Afterwards,  she  told  Miss  Loo  and  Miss  Harrit ;  but 
dey  _a".ghci,  and  said  dey  guessed  der  was  n't  many 
girls  who  were  as  well  oft  as  Milly  Well,  den,  Miss  Har- 
rit, she  was  married  de  first.  She  married  Mr.  Charles 
18* 


210  milly's  stoey. 

Blair ;  and  when  she  was  married,  nothing  was  to  do  but 
she  must  have  me  to  go  with  her.  I  liked  Miss  Harrit ; 
but,  den,  honey,  I  ;d  liked  it  much  better  if  it  had  been  your 
ma.  I  'd  always  counted  that  I  wanted  to  belong  to  your 
ma,  and  I  think  your  ma  wanted  me  ;  but,  den,  she  was 
still,  and  Miss  Harrit  she  was  one  of  the  sort  dat  never  lost 
nothing  by  not  asking  for  it.  She  was  one  of  de  sort  dat 
alwaj^s  got  tilings,  by  hook  or  by  crook.  She  always  had 
more  clothes,  and  more  money,  and  more  everything,  dan 
the  rest  of  them,  'cause  she  was  always  wide  awake,  and 
looking  out  for  herself. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Blair's  place  was  away  off  in  another  part  of 
Virginity,  and  I  went  dere  with  her.  Well,  she  wan't  very 
happy,  no  ways,  she  wan't ;  because  Mr.  Blair,  he  was  a 
high  fellow.  Laws,  Miss  Nina,  when  I  tells  you  dis  yere 
one  you  've  got  here  is  a  good  one,  and  I  'vise  you  to  take 
him,  it's  because  I  knows  what  comes  o'  girls  marrying 
high  fellows.  Don't  care  how  good-looking  dey  is,  nor 
what  dere  manners  is,  —  it 's  just  the  ruin  of  girls  that  has 
them.  Law,  when  he  was  a  courting  Miss  Harrit,  it  was 
all  nobody  but  her.  She  was  going  to  be  his  angel,  and  he 
was  going  to  give  up  all  sorts  of  bad  ways,  and  live  such  a 
good  life  !  Ah  !  she  married  him  ;  it  all  went  to  smoke  ! 
'Fore  de  month  was  well  over,  he  got  a  going  in  his  old 
ways  ;  and  den  it  was  go,  go,  all  de  time,  carousing  and 
drinking,  —  parties  at  home,  parties  abroad,  —  money  flying 
like  de  water. 

"  Well,  dis  made  a  great  change  in  Miss  Harrit.  She 
did  n't  laugh  no  more  ;  she  got  sharp  and  cross,  and  she 
wan't  good  to  me  like  what  she  used  to  be.  She  took  to 
be  jealous  of  me  and  her  husband.  She  might  have  saved 
herself  de  trouble.  I  should  n't  have  touched  him  with  a 
pair  of  tongs.  But  he  was  always  running  after  everything 
that  came  in  his  way  ;  so  no  wonder.  But,  'tween  them 
both,  I  led  a  bad  life  of  it. 

"  Well,  things  dragged  fe>:7  aiong  in  this  way.  She  had 
three  children,  and,  at  last,  he  was  killed,  one  day,  falling 


milly's  story.  211 

off  his  horse  when  he  was  too  drunk  to  hold  the  bridle. 
Good  riddance,  too,  I  thought.  And  den,  after  he  's  dead, 
Miss  Harrit,  she  seemed  to  grow  more  quiet  like,  and  set- 
ting herself  picking  up  what  pieces  and  crumbs  was  left  for 
her  and  de  children.  And  I  'member  she  had  one  of  her 
uncles  dere  a  good  many  days  helping  her  in  counting  up 
de  debts.  Well,  dey  was  talking  one  day  in  missis'  room, 
and  dere  was  a  little  light  closet  on  one  side,  where  I  got 
set  down  to  do  some  fine  stitching  ;  but  dey  was  too  busy 
in  their  'counts  to  think  anything  'bout  me.  It  seemed 
dat  de  place  and  de  people  was  all  to  be  sold  off  to  pay 
de  debts,  —  all  'cept  a  few  of  us,  who  were  to  go  off  with 
missis,  and  begin  again  on  a  small  place,  —  and  I  heard  him 
telling  her  about  it. 

"  '  While  your  children  are  small,'  he  says,  'you  can  live 
small,  and  keep  things  close,  and  raise  enough  on  the  place 
for  ye  all  ;  and  den  you  can  be  making  the  most  of  your 
property.  Niggers  is  rising  in  de  market.  Since  Missouri 
came  in,  they  's  worth  double  ;  and  so  you  can  just  sell  de 
increase  of  'em  for  a  good  sum.  Now,  there  's  that  black 
girl'Milly,  of  yourn.'  —  You  may  be  sure,  now,  I  pricked 
up  my  ears,  Miss  Nina.  —  'You  don't  often  see  a  girl  of 
finer  breed  than  she  is,'  says  he,  just  as  if  I  'd  been  a  cow, 
you  know.     '  Have  you  got  her  a  husband  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Miss  Harrit ;  and  then  says  she,  '  I  believe 
Milly  is  something  of  a  coquette  among  the  young  men. 
She  's  never  settled  on  anybody  yet,'  says  she. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  that  must  be  attended  to,  'cause 
that  girl's  children  will  be  an  estate  of  themselves.  Why, 
I  've  known  women  to  have  twenty !  and  her  children 
would  n't  any  of  'em  be  worth  less  than  eight  hundred  dol- 
lars. There's  a  fortune  at  once.  If  dey  's  like  her,  dey  '11 
be  as  good  as  cash  in  the  market,  any  day.  You  can  send 
out  and  sell  one,  if  you  happen  to  be  in  any  straits,  just 
as  soon  as  you  can  draw  a  note  on  the  bank  ' 

"  0,  laws,  Miss  Nina,  I  tell  you  dis  yer  fell  on  me  like 
so  much  lead.     'Cause,  you  see,  I  'd  been  keeping  company 


21*2  milly's  story. 

with  a  very  nice  young  man,  and  I  was  going  to  ask  Miss 
Harrit  about  it  dat  very  day  ;  but,  dere  —  I  laid  down  roy 
work  dat  minute,  and  thinks,  says  I,  '  True  as  de  Lord  's 
in  heaven  I  won't  never  be  married  in  dis  world  ! '  And  I 
cried  'bout  it,  off  and  on,  all  clay,  and  at  night  I  told  Paul 
'bout  it.  lie  was  de  one,  you  know.  But  Paul,  he  tried 
to  make  it  all  smooth.  He  guessed  it  would  n't  happen ;  he 
guessed  missis  would  think  better  on  't.  At  any  rate,  we 
loved  each  other,  and  why  should  n't  we  take  as  inuch 
comfort  as  we  could  ?  Well,  I  went  to  Miss  Harrit,  and 
told  her  just  what  I  thought  'bout  it.  Allers  had  spoke 
my  mind  to  Miss  Harrit  'bout  everything,  and  I  wan't 
going  to  stop  den.  And  she  laughed  at  me,  and  told  me 
not  to  cry  'fore  I  's  hurt.  Well,  things  went  on  so  two 
or  three  weeks,  and  finally  Paul  he  persuaded  me.  And  so 
we  was  married.  When  our  first  child  was  born,  Paul  was 
so  pleased,  he  thought  strange  that  I  wan't. 

"  '  Paul,'  said  I,  '  dis  yer  child  an't  ourn;  it  may  be  took 
from  us,  and  sold,  any  day.' 

"  'Well,  well,'  says  he,  '  Milly,  it  maybe  God's  child,  any 
way,  even  if  it  an't  ourn.' 

"  'Cause,  you  see,  Miss  Nina,  Paul,  he  was  a  Christian 
Ah,  well,  honey,  I  can't  tell  you  ;  after  dat  I  had  a  great 
many  chil'en,  girls  and  boys,  growing  up  round  me. 
Well,  I 's  had  fourteen  chil'en,  dear,  and  dey  's  all  been 
sold  from  me,  every  single  one  of  'em.  Lord,  it 's  a  heavy 
cross  !  heavy,  heavy !  None  knows  but  dem  dat  bears 
it!" 

"What  a  shame!"  said  Nina.  "How  could  Aunt 
Harriet  be  such  a  wicked  woman  ?  —  an  aunt  of  mine  do 
so!" 

"Chile,  chile,"  said  Milly,  "we  doesn't  none  of  us 
know  what's  in  us.  When  Miss  Harrit  and  I  was  gals 
together,  hunting  hens'  eggs  and  rowing  de  boat  in  de 
river,  —  well,  I  would  n't  have  thought  it  would  have  been 
so,  and  she  would  n't  have  thought  so,  neither.  But,  den, 
what  little  's  bad  in  girls  when  dey  's  young  and   hand- 


milly's  story.  213 

some,  and  all  de  world  smiling  on  'cm  —  0,  honey,  it  gets 
drefful  strong  when  dey  gets  grown  women,  and  do 
wrinkles  comes  in  der  faces  !    Always,  when  she  was  a  girl, 

—  whether  it  was   eggs,  or  berries,  or  chincapins,  or  what, 

—  it  was  Miss  Harrit's  nature  to  gel  and  to  keep;  and  when 
she  got  old,  dat  ail  turned  to  money." 

"0!  but,"  said  Nina,  "  it  does  seem  impossible  that  a 
woman  —  a  lady  born,  too,  and  my  aunt —  could  do  such  a 
thing  !  " 

"Ah,  ah,  honey!  ladies-born  have  some  bad  stuff  in 
dem,  sometimes,  like  de  rest  of  us.  But,  den,  honey,  it  was 
de  most  natural  thing  in  de  world,  come  to  look  on  't ;  for 
now,  see  here,  honey,  dere  Avas  your  aunt  —  she  was  poor, 
and  she  was  pestered  for  money.  Dere  was  Mas'r  George's 
bills  and  Peter's  bills  to  pay,  and  Miss  Susy's  ;  and  every 
one  of  'em  must  have  everything,  and  dey  was  all  cull- 
ing for  money,  money  ;  and  dere  has  been  times  she  did  n't 
know  which  way  to  turn.  Now,  you  see,  when  a  woman  is 
pestered  to  pay  two  hundred  here  and  tree  hundred  dere, 
and  when  she  has  got  more  niggers  on  her  place  dan  she 
can  keep,  and  den  a  man  calls  in  and  lays  down  eight 
hundred  dollars  in  gold  and  bills  before  her,  and  sa}rs,  '  I 
want  dat  ar  Lucy  or  George  of  yourn,'  why,  don't  you 
see  ?  Dese  yer  soul-drivers  is  always  round,  tempting  folks 
dey  know  is  poor ;  and  dey  always  have  der  money  as 
handy  as  de  devil  has  his.  But,  den,  I  oughtn't  fur  to  be 
hard  upon  dem  poor  soul-drivers,  neither,  'cause  dey  an't 
taught  no  better.  It 's  dese  yer  Christians,  dat  profess 
Christ,  dat  makes  great  talks  'bout  religion,  dat  has  der 
Bibles,  and  turns  der  backs  upon  swearing  soul-drivers, 
and  tinks  dey  an't  fit  to  speak  to  —  it 's  dem,  honey,  dat 's 
de  root  of  de  whole  business.  Now,  dere  was  dat  uncle  of 
hern,  —  mighty  great  Christian  he  was,  with  his  prayer- 
meetings,  and  all  dat !  —  he  was  always  a  putting  her  up  to 
it.  0,  dere's  been  times —  dere  was  times  'long  first,  Miss 
Nina,  when  my  first  chil'en  was  sold  —  dat,  I  tell  you,  I 
poured  out  my  soid  to  Miss  Harrit,  and  I  've  seen  dat  ar 


214  milly's  story. 

woman  cry  so  dat  I  was  sorry  for  her.  And  she  said  to 
me,  '  Milly,  I'll  never  do  it  again.'  But,  Lord!  I  didn't 
trust  her,  —  not  a  word  on  't,  —  'cause  I  knowed  she 
would.  I  knowed  dere  was  dat  in  her  heart  dat  de  devil 
would  n't  let  go  of.  I  knowed  he  'd  no  kind  of  objection  to 
her  'musing  herself  with  meetin's,  and  prayers,  and  all  dat; 
but  he  'd  no  notion  to  let  go  his  grip  on  her  heart. 

"  But,  Lord  !  she  was  n't  quite  a  bad  woman, —  poor  Miss 
Harrit  wasn't,  —  and  she  would  n't  have  done  so  bad,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  him.  But  he  'd  come  and  have  prayers, 
and  exhort,  and  den  come  prowling  round  my  place  like  a 
wolf,  looking"  at  my  chil'en. 

"  '  And,  Milly,'  he  ;d  say,  '  how  do  you  do  now  ?  Lucy 
is  getting  to  be  a  right  smart  girl,  Milly.  How  old  is  she  ? 
Dere  's  a  lady  in  Washington  has  advertised  for  a  maid, — 
a  nice  woman,  a  pious  lady.  I  suppose  you  would  n't 
object,  Milly  ?  Your  poor  mistress  is  in  great  trouble  for 
money.' 

"  I  never  said  nothing  to  that  man.  Only  once,  when 
he  asked  me  what  I  thought  my  Lucy  would  be  worth, 
when  she  was  fifteen  years  old,  says  I  to  him : 

"'Sir,  she  is  worth  to  me  just  what  your  daughter  is 
worth  to  you.' 

"Den  I  went  in  and  shut  de  door.  I  didn't  stay  to  see 
how  he  took  it.  Den  he  'd  go  up  to  de  house,  and  talk  to 
Miss  Harrit.  'T  was  her  duty,  he  'd  tell  her,  to  take 
proper  care  of  her  goods.  And  dat  ar  meant  selling  my 
chil'en  !  I  'member,  when  Miss  Susy  came  home  from 
boarding-school,  she  was  a  pretty  girl;  but  I  didn't  look 
on  her  very  kind,  I  tell  you,  'cause  three  of  my  chil'en 
had  been  sold  to  keep  her  at  school.  My  Lucy,  —  ah, 
honey  !  —  she  went  for  a  lady's  maid.  I  knowed  what  dat 
ar  meant,  well  enough.  De  lady  had  a  son  grown,  and 
he  took  Lucy  with  him  to  Orleans,  and  dere  was  an  end  of 
dat,  Dere  don't  no  letters  go  'tween  us.  Once  gone,  we 
can't  write,  and  it  is  good  as  being  dead.  Ah,  no,  chile, 
not  so  good  !     Paul  used  to  teach  Lucy  little  hymns,  nights, 


millt's  story.  215 

'fore  she  went  to  sleep.  And  if  she  'd  a  died  right  ofF  after 
one  of  dem,  it  would  have  been  better  for  her.  0,  honey, 
'long  dem  times,  I  used  to  rave  and  toss  like  a  bull  in  a 
net  —  I  did  so  ! 

"Well,  honey,  I  wasn't  what  I  was.  I  got  cross  and 
ugly.  Miss  Harrit,  she  grew  a  great  Christian,  and  joined 
de  church,  and  used  to  have  heaps  of  ministers  and 
elders  at  her  house  ;  and  some  on  'em  used  to  try  and  talk 
to  me.  I  told  'cm  I  'd  seen  enough  of  der  old  religion, 
and  I  did  n't  want  to  hear  no  more.  But  Paul,  he  was  a 
Christian  ;  and  when  he  talked  to  me,  I  was  quiet,  like, 
though  I  couldn't  be  like  what  he  was.  Well,  last,  my 
missis  promised  me  one.  She'd  give  me  my  youngest 
child,  sure  and  certain.  His  name  was  Alfred.  Well,  dat 
boy  !  —  I  loved  dat  child  better  dan  any  of  de  rest  of  'em. 
He  was  all  I'd  got  left  to  love ;  for,  when  he  was  a  year  old, 
Paul's  master  moved  away  clown  to  Louisiana,  and  took 
him  off,  and  I  never  heard  no  more  of  him.  So  it  'peared  as 
if  dis  yer  child  was  all  I  had  left.  Well,  he  teas  a  bright 
boy.  0,  he  was  most  uncommon  !  He  was  so  handy  to 
anything,  and  saved  me  so  many  steps  !  0,  honey,  he  had 
such  ways  with  him  —  dat  boy  !  — would  always  make  me 
laugh.  He  took  after  larnin'  mighty,  and  he  larned  himself 
to  read ;  and  he  'd  read  de  Bible  to  mo,  sometimes.  I  just 
brought  him  up  and  teached  him  de  best  way  I  could.  All 
dat  made  me  'fraid  for  him  was,  dat  he  was  so  spirity. 
I 's  'fraid  't  would  get  him  into  trouble. 

"  He  wan't  no  more  spirity  dan  white  folks  would 
like  der  chil'en  fur  to  be.  When  white  children  holds  up 
der  heads,  and  answers  back,  den  de  parents  laugh,  and 
say,  '  He  's  got  it  in  him  !  He  's  a  bright  one  !  '  But,  if 
one  of  ourn  does  so,  it 's  a  drefful  thing.  I  was  allers 
talking  to  Alfred  'bout  it,  and  telled  him  to  keep  humble. 
It  'peared  like  there  was  so  much  in  him,  you  could  n't  keep 
it  down.  Laws,  Miss  Nina,  folks  may  say  what  dey  like 
about  de  black  folks,  dey  '11  never  beat  it  out  of  my  head  ; 
—  dere  's  some  on  'em  can  be  as  smart  as  any  white  folks, 


216  milly's  story. 

if  dey  could  have  de  same  chance.  How  many  white  boys 
did  you  ever  see  would  take  de  trouble  for  to  teach  their- 
selves  to  read  ?  »  And  dat  's  what  my  Alfred  did.  Laws,  I 
had  a  mighty  heap  of  comfort  in  him,  'cause  I  was  think- 
in'  to  get  my  missis  to  let  me  hire  my  time  ;  den  I  was 
going  to  work  over  hours,  and  get  money,  and  buy  him  ; 
because,  you  ^see,  chile,  I  knowed  he  was  too  spirity  for  a 
slave.  Yon  see  he  couldn't  learn  to  stoop;  he  wouldn't  let 
nobody  impose  on  him  ;  and  he  always  had  a  word  back 
again  to  give  anybody  as  good  as  dey  sent.  Yet,  for 
all  dat,  he  was  a  clear,  good  boy  to  me  ;  and  when  I  used 
to  talk  to  him,  and  tell  him  dese  things  was  dangerous, 
he  'd  always  promise  fur  to  be  kerful.  Wei],  things  went 
on  pretty  well  while  he  was  little,  and  I  kept  him  with  me 
till  he  got  to  be  about  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old.  He 
used  to  wipe  de  dishes,  and  scour  de  knives,  and  black  de 
shoes,  and  such-like  work.  But,  by  and  by,  dey  said  it  was 
time  dat  he  should  go  to  de  reg'lar  work  ;  an  dat  ar  was  de 
time  I  felt  feared.  Missis  had  an  overseer,  and  he  was 
real  aggravating,  and  I  felt  feared  clere  'd  be  trouble ; 
and  sure  enough  dere  was,  too.  Dere  was  always  some- 
thin'  brewing  'tween  him  and  Alfred  ;  and  he  was  always 
running  to  missis  with  tales,  and  I  was  talking  to  Alfred. 
But  'peared  like  he  aggravated  de  boy  so,  dat  he  could  n't 
do  right.  Well,  one  day,  when  I  had  been  up  to  town 
for  an  errand,  I  come  home  at  night,  and  I  wondered 
Alfred  didn't  come  home  to  his  supper.  I  thought  some- 
thing was  wrong  ;  and  I  went  to  de  house,  and  dere  sat 
Miss  Harrit  by  a  table  covered  with  rolls  of  money,  and 
dere  she  was  a  counting  it. 

"  'Miss  Harrit,'  says  I,  '  I  can't  find  Alfred.  An't  you 
seen  him  ?  '  says  I. 

"At  first  she  didn't  answer,  but  went  on  counting  — 
fifty-one,  fifty-two,  fifty-three.     Finally  I  spoke  again. 

"  '  I  hope  dere  an't  nothing  happened  to  Alfred,  Miss 
Harrit  ? ' 

"  She  looked  up,  and  says  she  to  me, 


millt's  stoet.  217 

"  'Milly/  says  she,  '  de  fact  is,  Alfred  has  got  too  much 
for  me  to  manage,  and  I  had  a  great  deal  of  money  offered 
for  him  ;  and  I  sold  him.' 

"  I  felt  something  strong  coming  up  in  my  throat,  and  I 
just  went  up  and  took  hold  of  her  shoulders,  and  said  I, 

"  'Miss  Harrit,  you  took  de  money  for  thirteen  of  my 
chil'en,  and  you  promised  me,  sure  enough,  I  should  have 
dis  yer  one.     You  call  dat  being  a  Christian  ? '  says  I. 

"  'Why,'  says  she,  '  Milly,  he  an't  a  great  way  off;  you 
can  see  him  about  as  much.  It 's  only  over  to  Mr.  Jones's 
plantation.  You  can  go  and  see  him,  and  he  can  come  and 
see  you.  And  you  know  you  didn't  like  the  man  who  had 
the  care  of  him  here,  and  thought  he  was  always  getting 
him  into  trouble.' 

"  '  Miss  Harrit/  says  I, -' you  may  cheat  yourself  saying 
dem  things  ;  but  you  don't  cheat  me,  nor  de  Lord  neither. 
You  folks  have  de  say  all  on  your  side,  with  your  ministers 
preaching  us  down  out  of  de  Bible  ;  you  won't  teach  us  to 
read.  But  I  'm  going  straight  to  de  Lord  with  dis  yer 
case.  I  tell  you,  if  de  Lord  is  to  be  found,  I  '11  find  him  ; 
and  I  '11  ask  him  to  look  on 't, —  de  way  you  've  been  treating 
me,  —  selling  my  chil'en,  all  the  way  'long,  to  pay  for  your 
chil'en,  and  now  breaking  your  word  to  me,  and  taking  dis 
yer  boy,  de  last  drop  of  blood  in  my  heart !  I  '11  pray  de 
Lord  to  curse  every  cent  of  dat  ar  money  to  you  and  your 
chil'en  ! ' 

"  Dat  ar  was  de  way  I  spoke  to  her,  child.  I  was  poor, 
ignorant  cretur,  and  didn't  know  God,  and  my  heart  was  like 
a  red-hot  coal.  I  turned  and  walked  right  straight  out  from 
her.  I  did  n't  speak  no  more  to  her,  and  she  didn't  speak 
no  more  to  me.  And  when  I  went  to  bed  at  night,  dar, 
sure  'nough,  was  Alfred's  bed  in  de  corner,  and  his  Sunday 
coat  hanging  up  over  it,  and  his  Sunday  shoes  I  had  bought 
for  him  with  my  own  money ;  'cause  he  was  a  handsome 
boy,  and  I  wanted  him  always  to  look  nice.  Well,  so,  come 
Sunday  morning,  I  took  his  coat  and  his  shoes,  and  made 
a  bundle  of  'em,  and  I  took  my  stick,  and  says  I,  '  I  '11  just 
19 


218  milly's  stoky. 

go  over  to  Jones's  place  and  see  what  has  'come  of  Alfred. 
All  de  time,  I  had  n't  said  a  word  to  missis,  nor  she  to 
me.  Well,  I  got  about  half-way  over  to  de  place,  and  dere 
I  stopped  under  a  big  hickory-tree  to  rest  me  a  bit,  and  I 
looked  along  and  seed  some  one  a  coming  ;  and  pretty  soon 
I  knowed  it  was  Huldah.  She  was  one  that  married  Paul's 
cousin,  and  she  lived  on  Jones's  place.  And  so  I  got  up 
and  went  to  meet  her,  and  told  her  I  was  going  over  to  see 
'bout  Alfred. 

"'Lord!'  says  she,  '  Milly,  haven't  you  heard  dat 
Alfred  's  dead  ? ' 

"  Well,  Miss  Nina,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  and  every- 
thing in  it  stopped  still.  And  said  I,  '  Huldah,  has  dey 
killed  him  ? ' 

"  And  said  she,  '  Yes.'  And  she  told  me  it  was  dis  yer 
way  :  Dat  Stiles  —  he  dat  was  Jones's  overseer  —  had 
heard  dat  Alfred  was  dreadful  spirity ;  and  when  boys 
is  so,  sometimes  dey  aggravates  'em  to  get  'em  riled, 
and  den  dey  whips  'em  to  break  'em  in.  So  Stiles,  when 
he  was  laying  off  Alfred's  task,  was  real  aggravating  to  him  ; 
and  dat  boy  —  well,  he  answered  back,  just  as  he  allers 
would  be  doing,  'cause  he  was  smart,  and  it  'peared  like  he 
couldn't  keep  it  in.  And  den  dey  all  laughed  round  dere, 
and  den  Stiles  was  mad,  and  swore  he  'd  whip  him ;  and 
den  Alfred,  he  cut  and  run.  And  den  Stiles  he  swore 
awful  at  him,  and  he  told  him  to  '  come  here,  and  he  'd  give 
him  hell,  and  pay  him  de  cash.'  Dem  is  de  very  words  he 
said  to  my  boy.  And  Alfred  said  he  would  n't  come  back  ; 
he  wasn't  going  to  be  whipped.  And  just  den  young 
Master  Bill  come  along,  and  wanted  to  know  what  was  de 
matter.  So  Stiles  told  him,  and  he  took  out  his  pistol,  and 
said,  '  Here,  young  dog,  if  you  don't  come  back  before  I 
count  five,  I  '11  fire  !  ' 

"  '  Fire  ahead  ! '  says  Alfred ;  'cause,  you  see,  dat  boy 
never  knowed  what  fear  was.  And  so  he  fired.  And  Hul- 
dah said  he  just  jumped  up  and  give  one  scream,  and  fell 
flat.     And  dey  run  up  to  him,  and  he  was  dead  ;  'cause, 


millt's  story.  219 

you  see,  de  bullet  went  right  through  his  heart.  Well,  dey 
took  off  his  jacket  and  looked,  but  it  wan't  of  no  use  ;  his 
face  settled  down  still.  And  Huldah  said  dat  dey  just  dug 
a  hole  and  put  him  in.  Xothing  on  him  —  nothing  round 
him  —  no  coffin  ;  like  he'd  been  a  dog.  Huldah  showed 
me  de  jacket.  Dere  was  de  hole,  cut  right  round  in  it, 
like  it  was  stamped,  and  his  blood  running  out  on  it.  I 
didn't  say  a  word.  I  took  up  de  jacket,  and  wrapped  it  up 
with  his  Sunday  clothes,  and  I  walked  straight  —  straight 
home.  I  walked  up  into  missis'  room,  and  she  was  dressed 
for  church,  sure  enough,  and  sat  dere  reading  her  Bible. 
I  laid  it  right  down  under  her  face,  dat  jacket.  '  You  see 
dat  hole ! '  said  I  ;  '  you  see  dat  blood  !  Alfred  's  killed  ! 
You  killed  him  ;  his  blood  be  on  you  and  your  chil'en  ! 
0,  Lord  God  in  heaven,  hear  me,  and  render  unto  her 
double ! '  " 

Nina  drew  in  her  breath  hard,  with  an  instinctive  shudder. 
Hilly  had  drawn  herself  up,  in  the  vehemence  of  her  narra- 
tion, and  sat  leaning  forward,  her  black  eyes  dilated,  her 
strong  arms  clenched  before  her,  and  her  powerful  frame  ex- 
panding and  working  with  the  violence  of  her  emotion. 
She  might  have  looked,  to  one  with  mythological  associations, 
like  the  figure  of  a  black  marble  Nemesis  in  a  trance  of  wrath. 
She  sat  so  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  her  muscles  relaxed, 
her  eyes  gradually  softened  ;  she  looked  tenderly,  but  sol- 
emnly, down  on  Nina.  "  Dem  was  awful  words,  chile  ;  but 
I  was  in  Egypt  den.  I  was  wandering  in  de  wilderness  of 
Sinai.  I  had  heard  de  sound  of  de  trumpet,  and  de  voice  of 
words  ;  but,  chile,  I  hadn't  seen  de  Lord.  "Well  —  I  went 
out,  and  I  did  n't  speak  no  more  to  Miss  Harrit.  Dere  was 
a  great  gulf  fixed  'tween  us  ;  and  dere  did  n't  no  words 
pass  over  it.  I  did  my  work  —  I  scorned  not  to  do  it ;  but  I 
didn't  speak  to  her.  Den  it  was,  chile,  dat  I  thought  of  what 
my  mother  told  me,  years  ago  ;  it  came  to  me,  all  fresh  — ■ 
'  Chile,  when  trouble  comes,  you  ask  de  Lord  to  help  you  ;' 
and  I  saw  dat  I  had  n't  asked  de  Lord  to  help  me  ;  and 
now,  says  I  to  myself,  de  Lord  can't  help  me;  'cause  he 


220  willy's  story. 

could  n't  bring"  back  Alfred,  no  way  you  could  fix  it ;  and 
yet  I  wanted  to  find  de  Lord,  'cause  I  was  so  tossed  up 
and  down.  I  wanted  just  to  go  and  say,  '  Lord,  you  see 
what  dis  woman  has  done.'  I  wanted  to  put  it  to  him,  if 
he  'd  stand  up  for  such  a  thing  as  that.  Lord,  how  de 
world,  and  everything,  looked  to  me  in  clem  times  !  Every- 
thing goin'  on  in  de  way  it  did  ;  and  dese  yer  Christians, 
dat  said  dat  cloy  was  going  into  de  kingdom,  doing  as 
dey  did  !  I  tell  you,  I  sought  de  Lord  early  and  late. 
Many  nights  I  have  been  out  in  de  woods  and  laid  on  de 
ground  till  morning,  calling  and  crying,  and  'peared  like 
nobody  heerd  me.  0,  how  strange  it  used  to  look,  when  I 
looked  up  to  de  stars  !  winking  at  me,  so  kind  of  still  and 
solemn,  but  never  saying  a  word  !  Sometimes  I  got  dat 
wild,  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  tear  a  hole  through  de  sky, 
'cause  I  must  find  God  ;  I  had  an  errand  to  him,  and  I 
must  find  him. 

"  Den  I  heard  'em  read  out  de  Bible,  'bout  how  de 
Lord  met  a  man  on  a  threshing-floor,  and  I  thought  maybe 
if  I  had  a  threshing-floor  he  would  come  to  me.  So  I 
threshed  down  a  place  just  as  hard  as  I  could  under  de 
trees;  and  den  I  prayed  dere — but  he  didn't  come. 
Den  dere  was  coming  a  great  camp-meeting ;  and  I 
thought  I'd  go  and  see  if  I  could  find  de  Lord  dere; 
because,  you  see,  missis,  she  let  her  people  go  Sunday  to 
de  camp-meeting.  Well,  I  Avent  into  de  tents  and  heerd 
clern  sing ;  and  I  went  afore  de  altar,  and  I  heerd  preach- 
ing ;  but  it  'peared  like  it  was  no  good.  It  did  n't  touch 
me  nowhere  ;  and  I  could  n't  see  nothing  to  it.  I  heerd 
'em  read  out  of  de  Bible,  '  0,  dat  I  knew  where  I  might 
find  him.  I  would  come  even  to  his  seat.  I  would  order 
my  cause  before  him.  I  would  fill  my  mouth  with  argu- 
ments ;'  and  I  thought,  sure  enough,  dat  ar 's  just  what  I 
want.  Well,  came  on  dark  night,  and  dey  had  all  de 
camp-fires  lighted  up,  and  dey  was  singing  de  hymns 
round  and  round,  and  I  went  for  to  hear  de  preaching. 
And   dere   was    a    man  —  pale,    lean   man   he   was,    with 


milly's  stoet.  221 

black  eyes  and  black  hair.  Well,  clat  ar  man,  lie  preached 
a  sermon,  to  be  sure,  I  never  shall  forget.  His  text  was, 
'  He  that  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but  freely  delivered  him 
up  for  us  all,  how  shall  he  not  with  him  freely  give  us  all 
things  ? '  Well,  you  see,  the  first  sound  of  dis  took  me, 
because  I  'd  lost  my  son.  And  the  man,  he  told  us  who 
de  Son  of  God  was,  —  Jesus,  —  0,  how  sweet  and  beautiful 
he  was  !  How  he  went  round  doing  for  folks.  0,  Lord, 
what  a  story  dat  ar  was  !  And,  den,  how  dey  took  him, 
and  put  de  crown  of  thorns  on  his  head,  and  hung  him  up 
bleeding,  bleeding,  and  bleeding  !  God  so  loved  us  dat 
he  let  his  own  dear  Son  suffer  all  dat  for  us.  Chile,  I  got 
up,  and  I  went  to  de  altar,  and  I  kneeled  down  with  de 
mourners  ;  and  I  fell  flat  on  my  face,  and  dey  said  I  was 
in  a  trance.  Maybe  I  was.  Where  I  was,  I  don't  know  ; 
but  I  saw  de  Lord  !  Chile,  it  seemed  as  if  my  very  heart 
was  still.  I  saw  him,  suffering,  bearing  with  us,  year  in 
and  year  out  —  bearing  — ■  bearing  ■ — ■  bearing  so  patient ! 
'Feared  like,  it  wan't  just  on  de  cross  ;  but  bearing  always, 
every whar  !  0,  chile,  I  saw  how  he  loved  us  !  —  us  all — 
all- — -every  one  on  us!  —  we  dat  hated  each  other  so! 
'Peared  like  he  was  using  his  heart  up  for  us,  all  de  time  — 
bleedin'  for  us  like  he  did  on  Calvary,  and  willin'  to  bleed  ! 
0,  chile,  I  saw  what  it  was  for  me  to  be  hatin',  like  I  'd 
hated.  '  0,  Lord,'  says  I,  '  I  give  up  !  0,  Lord,  I  never  see 
you  afore  !  I  did  n't  know.  Lord,  I 's  a  poor  sinner  !  I 
won't  hate  no  more  ! '  And  0,  chile,  den  dere  come  such  a 
rush  of  love  in  my  soul  !  Says  I,  '  Lord,  I  ken  love  even  de 
white  folks  ! '  And  den  came  another  rush  ;  and  says  I, '  Yes, 
Lord,  I  love  poor  Miss  Harrit,  dat 's  sole  all  my  chil'en,  and 
been  de  death  of  my  poor  Alfred!  I  loves  her.'  Chile,  I 
overcome  —  I  did  so  —  I  overcome  by  de  blood  of  de 
Lamb  ■ —  de  Lamb  !  —  Yes,  de  Lamb,  chile  !  —  'cause  if  he  'd 
been  a  lion  I  could  a  kept  in  ;  't  was  de  Lamb  dat  over- 
come. 

"  When  I  come  to,  I  felt  like  a  chile.     I  went  home  to 
Miss  Harrit ;   and  I   had  n't  spoke  peaceable  to  her  since 
19* 


222  milly's  stoey. 

Alfred  died.  I  went  in  to 'her.  She'd  been  sick,  and  she 
was  in  her  room,  looking-  kinder  pale  and  yaller,  poor  thing  ; 
'cause  her  son,  honey,  he  got  drunk  and  'bused  her  awful. 
I  went  in,  and  says  I,  '  0,  Miss  Harrit,  I 's  seen  de  Lord  ! 
Miss  Harrit,  I  an't  got  no  more  hard  feelin's  ;  I  forgive  ye, 
and  loves  ye  with  all  my  heart,  just  as  de  Lord  does.' 
Honey,  ye  ought  to  see  how  dat  woman  cried  !  Says  she, 
'Milly,. I 's  a  great  sinner.'  Says  I,  'Miss  Harrit,  we 's 
sinners,  both  on  us,  but  de  Lord  gives  hisself  for  us  both  ; 
and  if  he  loves  us  poor  sinners,  we  must  n't  be  hard  on  each 
other.  Ye  was  tempted,  honey,'  says  I  (for  you  see  I  felt 
like  makin'  senses  for  her)  ;  '  but  de  Lord  Jesus  has  got  a 
pardon  for  both  on  us.' 

"After  dat,  I  didn't  have  no  more  trouble  with  Miss 
Harrit.  Chile,  we  was  sisters  in  Jesus.  I  bore  her  bur- 
dens, and  she  bore  mine.  And,  dear,  de  burdens  was  heavy  ; 
for  her  son  he  was  brought  home  a  corpse  ;  he  shot  hisself 
right  through  de  heart,  trying  to  load  a  gun  when  he  was 
drunk.  0,  chile,  I  thought  den  how  I  'd  prayed  de  Lord  to 
render  unto  her  double  ;  but  I  had  a  better  mind  den.  Ef  I 
could  have  brought  poor  Mas'r  George  to  life,  I  'd  a  done  it ; 
and  I  held  de  poor  woman's  head  on  my  arm  all  dat  ar 
night,  and  she  a  screamin'  every  hour.  Well,  dat  ar  took 
her  down  to  de  grave.  She  did  n't  live  much  longer ;  but 
_she  was  ready  to  die.  She  sent  and  bought  my  daughter 
Lucy's  son,  dis  here  Tom,  and  gin  him  to  me.  Poor  thing ! 
she  did  all  she  could. 

"  I  watched  with  her  de  night  she  died.  0,  Miss  Nina, 
if  ever  ye  're  tempted  to  hate  anybody,  think  how  't  '11  be 
with  'em  when  dey  comes  to  die. 

"She  died  hard,  poor  thing!  and  she  was  cast  clown 
'bout  her  sins.  '  0,  Milly,'  says  she,  '  the  Lord  and  you 
may  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  forgive  myself.' 

"  And,  says  I  to  her,  '  0,  missis,  don't  think  of  it  no  more  ; 
de  Lord's  hid  it  in  his  own  heart ! '  0,  but  she  struggled 
long,  honey;  she  was  all  night  dyin',  and  'twas  '  Milly  ! 
Milly  ! '    all  the  time  ;  '  0 ,  Milly,  stay  with  me  ! ' 


milly's  story.  223 

"And,  chile,  I  felt  I  loved  her  like  my  own  soul ;  and 
when  de  day  broke  de  Lord  set  her  free,  and  I  laid  her 
down  like  she  'd  been  one  o'  my  babies.  I  took  up  her 
poor  hand.  It  was  warm,  but  the  strength  was  all  gone  out 
on't;  and,  '0/  I  thought,  'ye  poor  thing,  how  could  I 
ever  have  hated  ye  so?'  Ah,  chile,  we  mustn't  hate  no- 
body ;  we  's  all  poor  creators,  and  de  dear  Lord  he  loves 
us  all." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

UNCLE   JOHN. 

About  four  miles  east  of  Canema  lay  the  plantation  of 
Nina's  uncle,  whither  Harry  had  been  sent  on  the  morning 
which  we  have  mentioned.  The  young  man  went  upon  his 
errand  in  no  very  enviable  mood  of  mind.  Uncle  Jack,  as 
Nina  always  called  him,  was  the  nominal  guardian  of  the 
estate,  and  a  more  friendly  and  indulgent  one  Harry  could 
not  have  desired.  He  was  one  of  those  joyous,  easy  souls, 
whose  leading  desire  seemed  to  be  that  everybody  in  the 
world  should  make  himself  as  happy  as  possible,  with- 
out fatiguing  him  with  consultations  as  to  particulars. 
His  confidence  in  Harry  was  unbounded  ;  and  he  esteemed 
it  a  good  fortune  that  it  was  so,  as  he  was  wont  to  say, 
laughingly,  that  his  own  place  was  more  than  he  could 
manage.  Like  all  gentlemen  who  make  the  study  of  their 
own  ease  a  primary  consideration,  Uncle  Jack  found  the  whole 
course  of  nature  dead-set  against  him.  For,  as  all  creation 
is  evidently  organized  with  a  view  to  making  people  work, 
it  follows  that  no  one  has  so  much  care  as  the  man  who 
resolves  not  to  take  any.  Uncle  Jack  was  systematically, 
and  as  a  matter  of  course,  cheated  and  fleeced,  by  his  over- 
seers, by  his  negroes,  and  the  poor  whites  of  his  vicinity ; 
and,  worst  of  all,  continually  hectored  and  lectured  by  his 
wife  therefor.  Nature,  or  destiny,  or  whoever  the  lady 
may  be  that  deals  the  matrimonial  cards,  with  her 
usual  thoughtfulness  in  balancing  opposites,  had  arranged 
that  jovial,  easy,  care-hating  Uncle  John  should  have  been 
united    to    a    most    undaunted    and   ever-active  spirit   of 


UNCLE   JOHN.  225 

enterprise  and  resolution,  who  never  left  anything  quiet  in 
his  vicinity.  She  it  was  who  continually  disturbed  his 
repose,  by  constantly  ferreting-  out,  and  bringing  before  his 
view,  all  the  plots,  treasons,  and  conspiracies,  with  which 
plantation-life  is  ever  abounding ;  bringing  down  on  his 
devoted  head  the  necessity  of  discriminations,  decisions, 
and  settlements,  most  abhorrent  to  an  easy  man. 

The  fact  was,  that  responsibility,  aggravated  by  her  hus- 
band's negligence,  had  transformed  the  worthy  woman  into 
a  sort  of  domestic  dragon  of  the  Hesperides  ;  and  her  good 
helpmeet  declared  that  he  believed  she  never  slept,  nor 
meant  anybody  else  should..  It  was  all  very  well,  he  would 
observe.  He  would  n't  quarrel  with  her  for  walking  the 
whole  night  long,  or  sleeping  with  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  watching  the  smoke-house  ;  for  stealing  out  after  one 
o'clock  to  convict  Pompey,  or  circumvent  Cuff,  if  she  only 
would  n't  bother  him  with  it.  Suppose  the  half  of  the  hams 
were  carried  off,  between  two  and  three,  and  sold  to  Abijah 
Skinflint  for  rum  ?  —  He  must  have  his  sleep  ;  and,  if  he  had  to 
pay  for  it  in  ham,  why,  he  'd  pay  for  it  in  ham  ;  but  sleep  he 
must,  and  would.  And,  supposing  he  really  believed,  in 
his  own  soul,  that  Cuffy,  who  came  in  the  morning,  with  a 
long  face,  to  announce  the  theft,  and  to  propose  measures 
of  discoveiy,  was  in  fact  the  main  conspirator  —  what  then  ? 
He  could  n't  prove  it  on  him.  Cuff  had  gone  astray  from  the 
womb,  speaking  lies  ever  since  he  was  born  ;  and  what  would 
be  the  use  of  his  fretting  and  sweating  himself  to  death  to  get 
truth  out  of  Cuff?  Xo,  no  !  Mrs.  G.,  as  he  commonly  called 
his  helpmeet,  might  do  that  sort  of  thing,  but  she  must  n't 
bother  him  about  it.  Not  that  Uncle  Jack  was  invariable  in  his 
temper  ;  human  nature  has  its  limits,  and  a  personage  who 
finds  "  mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to  do  "  often  seems  to 
take  a  malicious  pleasure  in  upsetting  the  temper  of  idle 
gentlemen.  So,  Uncle  Jack,  though  confessedly  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world,  was  occasionally  subject  to  a  tropical 
whirlwind  of  passion,  in  which  he  would  stamp,  tear,  and 
swear,  with  most  astounding  energy  ;  and  in  those  ignited 


226  UNCLE   JOHN. 

moments  all  the  pent-up  sorrows  of  his  soul  would  fly  about 
him,  like  red-hot  shot,  in  every  direction.  And  then  he  would 
curse  the  negroes,  curse  the  overseers,  curse  the  plantation, 
curse  Cufl*  and  Pomp  and  Dinah,  curse  the  poor  white  folks 
round,  curse  Mr.  Abijah  Skinflint,  and  declare  that  he 
would  send  them  and  the  niggers  all  severally  to  a  depart- 
ment which  politeness  forbids  us  to  mention.  He  would 
pour  out  awful  threats  of  cutting  up,  skinning  alive,  and 
selling  to  Georgia.  To  all  which  commotion  and  bluster 
the  negroes  would  listen,  rolling  the  whites  of  their  eyes, 
and  sticking  their  tongues  in  their  cheeks,  with  an  air  of 
great  satisfaction  and  amusement ;  because  experience  had 
sufficiently  proved  to  them  that  nobody  had  ever  been  cut 
up,  skinned  alive,  or  sent  to  Georgia,  as  the  result  of  any  of 
these  outpourings.  So,  when  Uncle  Jack  had  one  of  these 
fits,  they  treated  it  as  hens  do  an.  approaching  thunder- 
storm, —  ran  under  cover,  and  waited  for  it  to  blow  over. 

As  to  Madam  Gordon,  her  wrath  was  another  affair.  And 
her  threats  they  had  learned  to  know  generally  meant  some- 
thing ;  though  it  very  often  happened  that,  in  the  dispensa- 
tion of  most  needed  justice,  Uncle  Jack,  if  in  an  extra  good 
humor,  would  rush  between  the  culprit  and  his  mistress, 
and  bear  him  off  in  triumph,  at  the  risk  of  most  serious  con- 
sequences to  himself  afterwards.  Our  readers  are  not  to 
infer  from  this  that  Madam  Gordon  was  really  and  naturally 
an  ill-natured  woman.  She  was  only  one  of  that  denomina- 
tion of  vehement  housekeepers  who  are  to  be  found  the 
world  over  —  women  to  whom  is  appointed  the  hard  mis- 
sion of  combating,  single-handed,  for  the  principles  of  order 
and  exactness,  against  a  whole  world  in  arms.  Had  she  had 
the  good  fortune  to  have  been  born  in  Vermont  or  Massa- 
chusetts, she  would  have  been  known  through  the  whole 
village  as  a  woman  who  could  n't  be  cheated  half  a  cent  on 
a  pound  in  meat,  and  had  an  instinctive  knowledge  whether 
a  cord  of  wood  was  too  short,  or  a  pound  of  butter  too 
light.  Put  such  a  woman  at  the  head  of  the  disorderly  rab- 
ble of  a  plantation,  with  a  cheating  overseer,  surrounded  by 


UNCLE    JOHN.  227 

thieving'  poor  whites,  to  whom  the  very  organization  of  so- 
ciety leaves  no  resource  but  thieving,  with  anever-mind  hus- 
band, with  land  that  has  seen  its  best  days, and  is  fast  running 
to  barrenness,  and  you  must  not  too  severely  question  her 
temper,  if  it  should  not  be  at  all  times  in  perfect  subjection. 
In  fact,  Madam  Gordon's  cap  habitually  bristled  with  hor- 
ror, and  she  was  rarely  known  to  sit  down.  Occasionally, 
it  is  true,  she  alighted  upon  a  chair  ;  but  was  in  a  moment 
up  again,  to  pursue  some  of  her  household  train,  or  shout, 
at  the  top  of  her  lungs,  some  caution  toward  the  kitchen. 

When  Harry  reined  up  his  horse  before  the  plantation, 
the  gate  was  thrown  open  for  him  by  old  Pomp,  a  super- 
annuated negro,  who  reserved  this  function  as  his  peculiar 
sinecure. 

"  Lord  bress  you,  Harry,  dat  you  ?  Bress  you,  you  ought 
fur  to  see  mas'r  !     Such  a  gale  up  to  de  house  I  " 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Pomp  ?  " 

"  Why,  mas'r,  he  done  got  one  of  he  fits  !  Tarin'  round 
dar,  fit  to  split !  —  stompin'  up  and  down  de  'randy, 
swarm'  like  mad  !  Lord,  if  he  an't  !  He  done  got  Jake 
tied  up,  dar!  —  swars  he  's  goin'  to  cut  him  to  pieces  !  He! 
he  !  he  !  Has  so  !  Got  Jake  tied  up  dar  !  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! 
Eeal  curus  !  And  he  's  blowin'  hisself  out  dere  mighty 
hard,  I  tell  you  !  So,  if  you  want  to  get  word  wid  him,  you 
can't  do  it  till  he  done  got  through  with  dis  yer !  "  And 
the  old  man  ducked  his  pepper-and-salt-colored  head,  and 
chuckled  with  a  lively  satisfaction. 

As  Harry  rode  slowly  up  the  avenue  to  the  house,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  portly  figure  of  its  master,  stamping 
up  and  down  the  veranda,  vociferating  and  gesticulating  in 
the  most  violent  manner.  He  was  a  corpulent  man,  of  mid- 
dle age,  with  a  round,  high  forehead,  set  off  with  grizzled 
hair.  His  blue  eyes,  fair,  rosy,  fat  face,  his  mouth  adorned 
with  brilliant  teeth,  gave  him,  when  in  good-humor,  the  air 
of  a  handsome  and  agreeable  man.  At  present  his  coun- 
tenance was  flushed  almost  to  purple,  as  he  stood  storming, 
from  his  rostrum,  at  a  saucy,  ragged  negro,  who,  tied  to  the 


228  UNCLE   JOHN. 

horse-post,  stood  the  picture  of  unconcern  ;  while  a  crowd 
of  negro  men,  women,  and  children,  were  looking  on. 

"  I  '11  teach  you  !  "  he  vociferated,  shaking  his  fist.  "  I 
won't — won't  bear  it  of  you,  you  dog,  you  !  You  won't 
take  my  orders,  won't  you?  I'll  kill  you  —  that  I  will  I 
I  '11  cut  you  up  into  inch-pieces  !  " 

"  No,  you  won't,  and  you  know  you  won't !  "  interposed 
Mrs.  Gordon,  who  sat  at  the  window  behind  him.  "You 
won't,  and  you  know  you  won't!  and  they  know  you  won't, 
too  !  It  will  all  end  in  smoke,  as  it  always  does.  I  only 
wish  you  would  n't  talk  and  threaten,  because  it  makes  you 
ridiculous  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  too  !  I  '11  be  master  in  my  own 
house,  I  say!      Infernal  dog!  —  I  say,  Cuff,  cut  him  up! 

—  Why  don't  you  go  at  him?  —  Give  it  to  him!  —  What 
you  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  If  mas'r  pleases  !  "  said  Cuff,  rolling  up  his  eyes,  and 
making  a  deprecating  gesture. 

"  If  I  please  !    Well,  blast  you,  I  do  please  !    Go  at  him  ! 

—  thrash  away!  Stay,  I'll  come  myself."  And,  seizing  a 
cowhide,  which  lay  near  him,  he  turned  up  his  cuffs,  and  ran 
down  the  steps  ;  but,  missing  his  footing  in  his  zeal,  came 
head-first  against  the  very  post  where  the  criminal  was  tied. 

"There!  I  hope,  now,  you  are  satisfied!  You  have 
killed  me  !  — you  have  broke  my  head,  you  have  !  I  shall 
be  laid  up  a  month,  all  for  you,  you  ungrateful  dog !  " 

Cuffy  and  Sambo  came  to  the  rescue,  raised  him  up 
carefully,  and  began  brushing  the  dust  off  his  clothes, 
smothering  the  laughter  with  which  they  seemed  ready  to 
explode,  while  the  culprit  at  the  post  seemed  to  considei 
this  an  excellent  opportunity  to  put  in  his  submission. 

"  Please,  mas'r,  do  forgive  me  !  I  tole  'em  to  go  out, 
and  dey  said  dey  would  n't.  I  did  n't  mean  no  harm  when 
I  said  'Mas'r  had  better  go  hisself;'  'cause  I  thinks  so 
now.  Mas'r  had  better  go  !  Dem  folks  is  curus,  and  dey 
won't  go  for  none  of  us.  Dey  just  acts  ridiculous,  dey 
does  !     And  I  did  n't  mean  fur  to  be  sarcy,  nor  nothin'. 


UNCLE   JOHN.  229 

I  say  'gin,  if  mas'r  '11  take  bis  horse  and  go  over  dar, 
mas'r  drive  dose  folks  out;  and  nobody  else  can't  do  it! 
"We  done  can't  do  it  —  dey  jest  sarce  us.  Now,  for  my 
Heavenly  Master,  all  dis  yere  is  de  truth  I  've  been  telling. 
De  Lord,  de  Master,  knows  it  is  ;  and,  if  mas'r  '11  take 
his  horse,  and  ride  down  dere,  he  'd  see  so  ;  so  dere,  just  as 
I  've  been  telling  mas'r.  I  did  n't  mean  no  harm  at  all,  I 
didn't!" 

The  quarrel,  it  must  be  told,  related  to  the  ejecting  of  a 
poor  white  family,  which  had  squatted,  as  the  phrase  is,  in  a 
deserted  cabin,  on  a  distant  part  of  the  Gordon  plantation. 
Mrs.  Gordon's  untiring  assiduity  having  discovered  this 
fact,  she  had  left  her  husband  no  peace  till  something  was 
undertaken  in  the  way  of  ejectment.  He  accordingly  com- 
missioned Jake,  a  stout  negro,  on  the  morning  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  to  go  over  and  turn  them  off.  Now,  Jake,  who 
inherited  to  the  full  the  lofty  contempt  with  which  the 
plantation  negro  regards  the  poor  white  folks,  started  upon 
his  errand,  nothing  loth,  and  whistled  his  way  in  high 
feather,  with  two  large  dogs  at  his  heels.  But,  when  he 
found  a  miserable,  poor,  sick  woman,  surrounded  by  four 
starving  children,  Jake's  mother's  milk  came  back  to  him  ; 
and,  instead  of  turning  them  out,  he  actually  pitched  a  dish 
of  cold  potatoes  in  among  them,  which  he  picked  up  in  a 
neighboring  cabin,  with  about  the  same  air  of  contemptuous 
pity  with  which  one  throws  scraps  to  a  clog.  And  then, 
meandering  his  way  back  to  the  house,  informed  his  master 
that  "  He  couldn't  turn  de  white  trash  out;  and,  if  he 
wanted  them  turned  out,  he  would  have  to  go  hisself." 

Now,  we  all  know  that  a  fit  of  temper  has  very  often 
nothing-  to  do  with  the  thing  which  appears  to  give  rise  to 
it.  When  a  cloud  is  full  charged  with  electricity,  it  makes 
no  difference  which  bit  of  wire  is  put  in.  The  flash  and  the 
thunder  come  one  way  as  well  as  another.  Mr.  Gordon  had 
received  troublesome  letters  on  business,  a  troublesome  lec- 
ture from  his  wife,  his  corn-cake  had  been  over-done  at  break- 
fast, and  his  coffee  burned  bitter ;  besides  which,  he  had  a  cold 
20 


230  UNCLE  JOHN. 

iii  his  head  corning  on,  and  there  was  a  settlement  brewing 
with  the  overseer.  In  consequence  of  all  which  things, 
though  Jake's  mode  of  delivering  himself  was  n't  a  whit 
more  saucy  than  ordinaiy,  the  storm  broke  upon  him  then 
and  there,  and  raged  as  we  have  described.  The  heaviest 
part  of  it,  however,  being  now  spent,  Mr.  Gordon  consented 
to  pardon  the  culprit  on  condition  that  he  would  bring  him 
up  his  horse  immediately,  when  he  would  ride  over  and  see 
if  he  could  n't  turn  out  the  offending  party.  He  pressed 
Harry,  who  was  rather  a  favorite  of  his,  into  the  service  ; 
and,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  they  were  riding 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  squatter's  cabin. 

"  It 's  perfectly  insufferable,  what  we  proprietors  have  to 
bear  from  this  tribe  of  creatures  !  "  he  said.  "  There  ought 
to  be  hunting-parties  got  up  to  chase  them  down,  and  ex- 
terminate 'em,  just  as  we  do  rats.  It  would  be  a  kindness 
to  them  ;  the  only  thing  you  can  do  for  them  is  to  kill  them. 
As  for  charity,  or  that  kind  of  thing,  you  might  as  well 
throw  victuals  into  the  hollow  logs  as  to  try  to  feed  'em. 
The  government  ought  to  pass  laws,  — we  will  have  laws, 
somehow  or  other,  —  and  get  them  out  of  the  state." 

And,  so  discoursing,  the  good  man  at  length  arrived 
before  the  door  of  a  miserable,  decaying  log-cabin,  out  of 
whose  glassless  windows  dark  emptiness  looked,  as  out  of 
the  eye-holes  of  a  skull.  Two  scared,  cowering  children 
disappeared  round  the  corner  as  he  approached.  He 
kicked  open  the  door,  and  entered.  Crouched  on  a  pile  of 
dirty  straw,  sat  a  miserable,  haggard  woman,  with  large, 
wild  eyes,  sunken  cheeks,  dishevelled,  matted  hair,  and 
long,  lean  hands,  like  bird's-claws.  At  her  skinny  breast 
an  emaciated  infant  was  hanging,  pushing,  with  its  little 
skeleton  hands,  as  if  to  force  the  nourishment  which  nature 
no  longer  gave  ;  and  two  scared-looking  children,  with  feat- 
ures wasted  and  pinched  blue  with  famine,  were  clinging  to 
her  gown.  The  whole  group  huddled  together,  drawing  as 
far  as  possible  away  from  the  new  comer,  looked  up  with 
large,  frightened  eyes,  like  hunted  wild  animals. 


UNCLE  JOHN.  231 

"What  you  here  for?"  was  the  first  question  of  Mr. 
Gordon,  put  in  no  very  decided  tone  ;  for,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  his  combativeness  was  oozing  out. 

The  woman  did  not  answer,  and,  after  a  pause,  the  young- 
est child  piped  up,  in  a  shrill  voice, 

"  An't  got  nowhere  else  to  be  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "we  camped  on  Mr.  Durant's 
place,  and  Bobfield — him  is  the  overseer  —  pulled  clown  the 
cabin  right  over  our  head.  'Pears  like  we  could  n't  get 
nowhere." 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"Gone  looking  for  work.  'Pears  like  he  could  n't  get 
none  nowhere.  'Pears  like  nobody  wants  us.  But  we  have 
got  to  be  somewhere,  though  !  "  said  the  woman,  in  a  mel- 
ancholy, apologetic  tone.  "  We  can't  die,  as  I  see  !  — wish 
we  could  !  " 

Mr.  Gordon's  eye  fell  upon  two  or  three  cold  potatoes  in 
a  piece  of  broken  crock,  over  which  the  woman  appeared 
keeping  jealous  guard. 

"What  you  doing  with  those  potatoes  ?  " 

"  Saving  them  for  the  children's  dinner." 

"  And  is  that  all  you  We  got  to  eat,  I  want  to  know  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Gordon,  in  a  high,  sharp  tone,  as  if  he  were  get- 
ting angry  very  fast. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman. 

"  What  did  you  have  to  eat  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  And  what  did  you  eat  the  day  before  ?  " 

"Found  some  old  bones  round  the  nigger  houses  ;  and 
some  on  'em  give  us  some  corn-cake." 

"  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  send  up  to  my  house,  and  get 
some  bacon  ?  Picking  up  bones,  slop,  and  swill,  round  the 
nigger  huts  ?  Why  didn't  you  send  up  for  some  ham,  and 
some  meal  ?  Lord  bless  you,  you  don't  think  Madam  Gor- 
don is  a  dog,  to  bite  you,  do  you  ?  Wait  here  till  I  send 
you  down  something  fit  to  eat.  Just  end  in  my  having  to 
take  care  of  you,  I  see  !     And,  if  you  are  going  to   stay 


232  UNCLE  JOHN. 

here,  there  will  be  something  to  be  done  to  keep  the  rain 
out!" 

"  There,  now,"  he  said  to  Harry,  as  he  was  mounting-  his 
horse,  "just  see  what  'tis  to  bo  made  with  hooks  in  one's 
back,  like  me  !  Everybody  hangs  on  to  me,  of  course  ! 
Now,  there  's  Durant  turns  off  these  folks  ;  there  's  Peters 
turns  them  off!  Well,  what's  the  consequence?  They 
come  and  litter  down  on  me,  just  because  I  am  an  easy,  soft- 
hearted old  fool !  It 's  too  devilish  bad  !  They  breed  like 
rabbits  !  What  God  Almighty  makes  such  people  for,  I 
don't  know  !  I  suppose  He  does.  But  there  's  these  poor, 
miserable  trash  have  children  like  sixty  ;  and  there  's  folks 
living  in  splendid  houses,  dying  for  children,  and  can't  have 
any.  If  they  manage  one  or  two,  the  scarlet-fever  or  whoop- 
ing-cough makes  off  with  'em.  Lord  bless  me,  things  go 
on  in  a  terrible  mixed-up  way  in  this  world !  And,  then, 
what  upon  earth  I  'm  to  say  to-  Mrs.  G.  !  I  know  what 
she  '11  say  to  me.  She  '11  tell  me  she  told  me  so  — 
that 's  what  she  always  says.  I  wish  she  'd  go  and  see 
them  herself — I  do  so!  Mrs.  G.  is  the  nicest  kind  of  a 
woman  —  no  mistake  about  that  ;  but  she  has  an  awful 
deal  of  energy,  that  woman  !  It 's  dreadful  fatiguing  to  a 
quiet  man,  like  me  —  dreadful !  But  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  her.  She  '11  be  down  upon  me 
about  this  woman  ;  but  the  woman  must  have  some  ham, 
that 's  flat !  Cold  potatoes  and  old  bones  !  Pretty  story  ! 
Such  people  have  no  business  to  live  at  all ;  but,  if  they  will 
live,  they  ought  to  eat  Christian  things  !  There  goes  Jake. 
Why  could  n't  he  turn  'em  off  before  I  saw  'em  ?  It  would 
have  saved  me  all  this  plague  !  Dog  knew  what  he  was 
about,  when  he  got  me  down  here  !  Jake  !  0,  Jake,  Jake  ! 
come  here  !  " 

Jake  came  shambling  along  up  to  his  master,  with  an  ex- 
ternal appearance  of  the  deepest  humility,  under  which  was 
too  plainly  seen  to  lurk  a  facetious  air  of  waggish  satisfac- 
tion 

"Here,  you,  Jake  ;  you  get  a  basket  —  " 


UNCLE  JOHN.  Zi  ? 

"Yes,  mas'r!  "  said  Jake,  with  an  air  of  provoking  in 
telligence. 

"  Be  still  saying  '  Yes,  rnas'r/  and  hear  what  I  ?ve  got  u 
say  !     Mind  yourself!  " 

Jake  gave  a  side  glance  of  inexpressible  drollery  at  Har- 
ry, and  then  stood  like  an  ebony  statue  of  submission. 

"You  go  to  your  missis,  and  ask  her  for  the  key  of  the 
smoke-house,  and  bring  it  to  me." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  tell  your  missis  to  send  me  a  peek  of  meal. 
Stay  —  a  loaf  of  bread,  or  some  biscuit,  or  corn-cake,  or 
anything  else  which  may  happen  to  be  baked  up.  Tell  her 
I  want  them  sent  out  right  away." 

Jake  bowed  and  disappeared. 

"  Now  we  may  as  well  ride  down  this  path,  while-  he  is 
gone  for  the  things.  Mrs.  G.  will  blow  off  on  him  first,  so 
that  rather  less  of  it  will  come  upon  me.  I  wish  I  could 
get  her  to  see  them  herself.  Lord  bless  her,  she  is  a  kind- 
hearted  woman  enough  !  but  she  thinks  there  's  no  use  do- 
ing,—  and  there  an't.  She  is  right  enough  about  it.  But, 
then,  as  the  woman  says,  there  must  be  some  place  for  them 
to  be  in  the  world.  The  world  is  wide  enough,  I  'm  sure  ! 
Plague  take  it !  why  can't  we  pass  a  law  to  take  them  all  in 
with  our  niggers,  and  then  they  'd  have  some  one  to  take 
care  of  them  !  Then  we  'd  do  something  for  them,  and 
there  'd  be  some  hope  of  keeping  'em  comfortable." 

Harry  felt  in  no  wise  inclined  to  reply  to  any  of  this  con- 
versation, because  he  knew  that,  though  nominally  addressed 
to  him,  the  good  gentleman  was  talking  merely  for  the  sake 
of  easing  his  mind,  and  that  he  would  have  opened  his  heart 
just  as  freely  to  the  next  hickory-bush,  if  he  had  not  hap- 
pened to  be  present.  So  he  let  him  expend  himself,  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  introduce  subjects  which  lay  nearer 
his  heart. 

In  a  convenient  pause,  he  found  opportunity  to  say, 

"Miss  Nina  sent  me  over  here,  this  morning." 

"  Ah,  Nin  !  my  pretty  little  Nin  !     Bless  the  child  !     She 
20* 


234  UNCLE  JOHN. 

did  ?  Why  could  n't  she  come  over  herself,  and  comfort  an 
old  fellow's  heart  ?  Nin  is  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  county  i 
I  tell  you  that,  Harry  !  " 

"  Miss  Nina  is  in  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  Master  Tom 
came  home  last  night  drunk,  and  to-day  he  is  so  cross  and 
contrary  she  can't  do  anything  with  him." 

"  Drunk  ?  0,  what  a  sad  dog  !  Tom  gets  drunk  too  often  ! 
Carries  that  too  far,  altogether !  Told  him  that,  the  last 
time  I  talked  to  him.  Says  I,  '  Tom,  it  does  very  well  for  a 
young  man  to  have  a  spree  once  in  one  or  two  months.  I 
did  it  myself,  when  I  was  young.  But/  says  I,  '  Tom,  to 
spree  all  the  time,  won't  do,  Tom  !  '  says  I.  '  Nobody  minds 
a  fellow  being  drunk  occasionally ;  but  he  ought  to  be  mod- 
erate about  it,  and  know  where  to  stop/  says  I ;  '  because, 
when  it  comes  to  that,  that  he  is  drunk  every  day,  or  every 
other  day,  why,  it 's  my  opinion  that  he  may  consider  the 
devil 's  got  him ! '  I  talked  to  Tom  just  so,  right  out 
square;  because,  you  see,  I'm  in  a  father's  place  to  him. 
But,  Lord,  it  don't  seem  to  have  done  him  a  bit  of  good  ! 
Good  Lord  !  they  tell  me  he  is  drunk  one  half  his  time,  and 
acts  like  a  crazy  creature  !  Goes  too  far,  Tom  does,  alto- 
gether. Mrs.  G.  an't  got  any  patience  with  him.  She 
blasts  at  him  every  time  he  comes  here,  and  he  blasts 
at  her  ;  so  it  an't  very  comfortable  having  him  here.  Good 
woman  at  heart,  Mrs.  Gordon,  but  a  little  strong  in  her 
ways,  you  know  ;  and  Tom  is  strong,  too.  So  it 's  fire  fight 
fire,  when  they  get  together.  It 's  no  ways  comfortable  to 
a  i.;an  wanting  to  have  everybody  happy  around  him.  Lord 
bless  me  !  I  wish  Nin  were  my  daughter  !  Why  can't  she 
come  over  here,  and  live  with  me  ?  She  has  n't  got  any 
more  spirit  in  her  than  just  what  I  like.  Just  enough  fizz 
in  her  to  keep  one  from  flatting  out.  What  about  those 
beaux  of  hers  ?     Is  she  going  to  be  married  ?     Hey  ?  " 

"  There 's  two  gentlemen  there,  attending  upon  Miss 
Nina.     One  is  Mr.  Carson,  of  New  York  —  " 

"Hang  it  all!  she  isn't  going  to  marry  a  d d  Yan- 
kee !     Why,  brother  would  turn  over  in  his  grave  !  " 


UNCLE  JOHN.  23 O 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  be  necessary  to  put  himself  to  that 
trouble,"  said  Harry,  "for  I  rather  think  it's  Mr.  Clay- 
ton who  is  to  be  the  favored  one." 

"Clayton!  good  blood! — -like  that!  Seems  to  be  a 
gentlemanly,  good  fellow,  does  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  owns  a  plantation,  I  'm  told,  in  South 
Carolina." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  that 's  well !  But  I  hate  to  spare  Nin  !  I 
never  half  liked  sending  her  off  to  New  York.  Don't  be- 
lieve in  boarding-schools.  I  've  seen  as  fine  girls  grown  on 
plantations  as  any  man  need  want.  What  do  we  want  to 
send  our  girls  there,  to  get  fipenny-bit  ideas  ?  I  thank  the 
Lord,  I  never  was  in  New  York,  and  I  never  mean  to  be  ! 
Carolina  born  and  raised,  I  am  ;  and  my  wife  is  Virginia  — 
pure  breed  !  No  boarding-school  about  her  !  And,  when  I 
stood  up  to  be  married  to  her,  there  was  n't  a  girl  in  Vir- 
ginia could  stand  up  with  her.  Her  cheeks  were  like  dam- 
ask roses  !  A  tall,  straight,  lively  girl,  she  was  !  Knew 
her  own  mind,  and  had  a  good  notion  of  speaking  it,  too. 
And  there  is  n't  a  woman,  now,  that  can  get  through  the 
business  she  can,  and  have  her  eyes  always  on  everything. 
If  it  does  make  me  uncomfortable,  every  now  and  then,  I 
ought  to  take  it,  and  thank  the  Lord  for  it.  For,  if  it  wan't 
for  her,  what  with  the  overseer,  and  the  niggers,  and  the 
poor  white  trash,  we  should  all  go  to  the  devil  in  a  heap  !  " 

"  Miss  Nina  sent  me  over  here  to  be  out  of  Master  Tom's 
way,"  said  Harry,  after  a  pause.  "He  is  bent  upon  hec- 
toring me,  as  usual.  You  know,  sir,  that  he  always  had  a 
spite  against  me,  and  it  seems  to  grow  more  and  more  bitter. 
He  quarrels  with  her  about  the  management  of  everything 
on  the  place  ;  and  you  know,  sir,  that  I  try  to  do  my  very 
best,  and  you  and  Mrs.  Gordon  have  always  been  pleased 
to  say  that  I  did  well." 

"  So  we  did,  Harry,  my  boy !  So  we  did  i  Stay  here  as 
Long  as  you  like.  Just  suit  yourself  about  that.  Maybe 
you  'd  like  to  go  out  shooting  with  me." 

"  I  'in  worried,"  said  Harry,  "  to  be  obliged  to  be  away 


236  UNCLE  JOHN. 

just  at  the  time  of  putting  in  the  seed.     Everything  depends 
upon  my  overseeing." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  back,  then  ?  Tom's  ugliness  is 
nothing  but  because  he  is  drunk.  There  's  where  it  is  !  I 
see  through  it !  You  see,  when  a  fellow  has  had  a  drunken 
spree,  wiry,  the  day  after  it  he  is  all  at  loose  ends  and  cross 
—  nerves  all  ravelled  out,  like  an  old  stocking.  Then  fellows 
are  sulky  and  surly  like.  I  ?ve  heard  of  their  having  tem- 
perance societies  up  in  those  northern  states,  and  I  think 
something  of  that  sort  would  be  good  for  our  young  men. 
They  get  drunk  too  often.  Full  a  third  of  them,  I  should 
reckon,  get  the  delirium  tremens  before  they  are  fifty.  If 
we  could  have  a  society  like  them,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  agree  to  be  moderate  !  Nobody  expects  young  men  to 
be  old  before  their  time  ;  but,  if  they  'd  agree  not  to  blow 
out  more  than  once  a  month,  or  something  in  that  way !  " 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Harry,  "  Master  Tom  '&  too  far  gone 
for  that." 

"  0,  ay  !  yes  !  Pity,  pity  !  Suppose  it  is  so.  Why, 
when  a  fellow  gets  so  far,  he  's  like  a  nigger's  old  patched 
coat  —  you  can't  tell  where  the  real  cloth  is.  Now,  Tom  ;  I 
suppose  he  never  is  himself —  always  up  on  a  wave,  or 
down  in  the  trough  !     Heigh o  !     I  'm  sorry  !  " 

"  It 's  very  hard  on  Miss  Nina,"  said  Harry.  "  He  inter- 
feres, and  I  have  no  power  to  stand  for  her.  And,  yester- 
day, he  began  talking  to  my  wife  in  a  way  I  can't  bear,  nor 
won't !     He  must  let  her  alone  !  " 

"  Sho  !  sho  !  "  said  Mr.  Gordon.  "  See  what  a  boy  that 
is,  now  !  That  an't  in  the  least  worth  while  —  that  an't ! 
I  shall  tell  Tom  so.  And,  Harry,  mind  your  temper !  Re- 
member, young  men  will  be  young ;  and,  if  a  fellow  will 
treat  himself  to  a  pretty  wife,  he  must  expect  trials.  But 
Tom  ought  not  to  do  so.  I  shall  tell  him.  High  !  there 
comes  Jake,  with  the  basket  and  the  smoke-house  key 
Now  for  something  to  send  down  to  those  poor  hobgoblins. 
If  people  are  going  to  starve,  they  must  n't  come  on  to  my 
place  to  do  it.     I  don't  mind  what  I  don't  see — I  wouldn't 


UNCLE  JOHN.  237 

mind  if  the  whole  litter  of  'em  was  drowned  to-morrow  ;  but, 
hang  it,  I  can't  stand  it  if  I  know  it  !  So,  here,  Jake,  take 
this  ham  and  bread,  and  look  'em  up  an  old  skillet,  and  see 
if  you  can't  tinker  up  the  house  a  bit.  I  'd  set  the  fellow 
to  work,  when  he  comes  back ;  only  we  have  two  hands  to 
every  turn,  now,  and  the  niggers  always  plague  'em.  Har- 
ry, you  go  home,  and  tell  Nin  All's.  G.  and  I  will  be  over  to 
dinner." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DEED. 

Harry  spent  the  night  at  the  place  of  Mr.  John  Gordon, 
and  arose  the  next  morning  in  a  very  discontented  mood  of 
mind.  Nothing  is  more  vexatious  to  an  active  and  enter- 
prising person  than  to  be  thrown  into  a  state  of  entire  idle- 
ness ;  and  Harry,  after  lounging  about  for  a  short  time  in 
the  morning,  found  his  indignation  increased  by  every  mo- 
ment of  enforced  absence  from  the  scene  of  his  daily  labors 
and  interests.  Having  always  enjoyed  substantially  the 
privileges  of  a  freeman  in  the  ability  to  regulate  his  time 
according  to  his  own  ideas,  to  come  and  go,  to  buy  and 
sell,  and  transact  business  unfettered  by  any  felt  control,  he 
was  the  more  keenly  alive  to  the  degradation  implied  in  his 
present  position. 

"  Here  I  must  skulk  around,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  like  a 
partridge  in  the  bushes,  allowing  everything  to  run  at  loose 
ends,  preparing  the  way  for  my  being  found  fault  with  for  a 
lazy  fellow,  by  and  by  ;  and  all  for  what  ?  Because  my 
younger  brother  chooses  to  come,  without  right  or  reason, 
to  domineer  over  me,  to  insult  my  wife  ;  and  because  the 
laws  will  protect  him  in  it,  if  he  does  it !  Ah  !  ah  !  that 's 
it.  They  are  all  leagued  together  !  No  matter  how  right  I 
am  —  no  matter  how  bad  he  is  !  Everybody  will  stand  up 
for  him,  and  put  me  down  ;  all  because  my  grandmother 
was  born  in  Africa,  and  his  grandmother  was  born  in  Amer- 
ica. Confound  it  all,  I  won't  stand  it !  Who  knows  what 
he  '11  be  saying  and  doing  to  Lisette  while  I  am  gone  ?  I  '11 
go  back  and  face  him,  like  a  man  !    I  '11  keep  straight  about 


DEED.  239 

my  business,  and,  if  he  crosses  me,  let  him  take  care  !  He 
has  n't  got  but  one  life,  any  more  than  I  have.  Let  him  look 
out !  " 

And  Harry  jumped  upon  his  horse,  and  turned  his  head 
homeward.  He  struck  into  a  circuitous  path,  which  led 
along*  that  immense  belt  of  swampy  land,  to  which  the 
name  of  Dismal  has  been  given.  As  he  was  riding  along, 
immersed  in  thought,  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet  was  heard 
in  front  of  him.  A  sudden  turn  of  the  road  brought  him 
directly  facing  to  Tom  Gordon  and  Mr.  Jekyl,  who  had 
risen  early  and  started  off  on  horseback,  in  order  to  reach 
a  certain  stage-depot  before  the  heat  of  the  day.  There 
was  a  momentary  pause  on  both  sides  ;  when  Tom  Gordon, 
like  one  who  knows  his  power,  and  is  determined  to  use  it 
to  the  utmost,  broke  out,  scornfully  : 

"  Stop,  you  damned  nigger,  and  tell  your  master  where 
you.  are  going  !  " 

"  You  are  not  my  master  !  "  said  Harry,  in  words  whose 
concentrated  calmness  conveyed  more  bitterness  and  wrath 
than  could  have  been  given  by  the  most  violent  outburst. 

"You  d d  whelp  !"  said  Tom  Gordon,  striking  him 

across  the  face  twice  with  his  whip,  "take  that,  and  that! 
We  '11  see  if  I  'm  not  your  master !  There,  now,  help  your- 
self, won't  you  ?     Is  n't  that  a  master's  mark?  " 

It  had  been  the  life-long  habit  of  Harry's  position  to 
repress  every  emotion  of  anger  within  himself.  But,  at 
this  moment,  his  face  wore  a  deadly  and  frightful  expres- 
sion. Still,  there  was  something  majestic  and  almost  com- 
manding in  the  attitude  with  which  he  reined  back  his 
horse,  and  slowly  lifted  his  hand  to  heaven.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  his  voice  was  choked  with  repressed  passion. 
At  last  he  said  : 

"  You  may  be  sure,  Mr.  Gordon,  this  mark  will  never 
be  forgotten  !  " 

There  are  moments  of  high  excitement,  when  all  that  is  in 
a  human  being  seems  to  be  roused,  and  to  concentrate  itself 
in  the  eye  and  the  voice.    And,  in  such  moments,  any  man, 


240  DRED. 

apparently  by  virtue  of  his  mere  humanity,  by  the  mere 
awfulness  of  the  human  soul  that  is  in  him,  gains  power  to 
over-awe  those  who  in  other  hours  scorn  him.  There  was 
a  minute's  pause,  in  which  neither  spoke  ;  and  Mr.  Jekyl, 
who  was  a  man  of  peace,  took  occasion  to  touch  Tom's 
elbow,  and  say  : 

"  It  seems  to  me  this  is  n't  worth  while  —  we  shall  miss 
the  stage."  And,  as  Harry  had  already  turned  his  horse 
and  was  riding  away,  Tom  Gordon  turned  his,  shouting 
after  him,  with  a  scornful  laugh  : 

"  I  called  on  your  wife  before  I  came  away,  this  morning, 
and  I  liked  her  rather  better  the  second  time  than  I  did  the 
first !  " 

This  last  taunt  flew  like  a  Parthian  arrow  backward,  and 
struck  into  the  soul  of  the  bondman  with  even  a  keener 
power  than  the  degrading  blow.  The  sting  of  it  seemed  to 
rankle  more  bitterly  as  he  rode  along,  till  at  last  he  dropped 
the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  and  burst  into  a  transport  of 
bitter  cursing. 

"  Aha  !  aha  !  it  has  come  nigh  thee,  has  it  ?  It  toucheth 
thee,  and  thou  faintest !  "  said  a  deep  voice  from  the  swampy 
thicket  beside  him. 

Harry  stopped  his  horse  and  his  imprecations.  There  was 
a  crackling  in  the  swamp,  and  a  movement  among  the  copse 
of  briers  ;  and  at  last  the  speaker  emerged,  and  stood  before 
Harry.  He  was  a  tall  black  man,  of  magnificent  stature 
and  proportions.  His  skin  was  intensely  black,  and  pol- 
ished like  marble.  A  loose  shirt  of  red  flannel,  which 
opened  very  wide  at  the  breast,  gave  a  display  of  a  neck 
and  chest  of  herculean  strength.  The  sleeves  of  the  shirt, 
rolled  up  nearly  to  the  shoulders,  showed  the  muscles  of 
a  gladiator.  The  head,  which  rose  with  an  imperial  air 
from  the  broad  shoulders,  was  large  and  massive,  and  de- 
veloped with  equal  force  both  in  the  reflective  and  percep- 
tive department.  The  perceptive  organs  jutted  like  dark 
ridges  over  the  eyes,  while  that  part  of  the  head  which 
phrenologists  attribute  to  the  moral  and  intellectual  senti- 


DRED.  241 

ments,rose  like  an  ample  dome  above  them.  The  large  eyes 
had  that  peculiar  and  solemn  effect  of  unfathomable  black- 
ness and  darkness  which  is  often  a  striking  characteristic 
of  the  African  eye.  But  there  burned  in  them,  like  tongues 
of  flame  in  a  black  pool  of  naphtha,  a  subtle  and  restless  fire, 
that  betokened  habitual  excitement  to  the  verge  of  insanity. 
If  any  organs  were  predominant  in  the  head,  they  were  those 
of  ideality,  wonder,  veneration,  and  firmness  :  and  the  whole 
combination  was  such  as  might  have  formed  one  of  the  wild 
old  warrior  prophets  of  the  heroic  ages.  He  wore  a  fantastic 
sort  of  turban,  apparently  of  an  old  scarlet  shawl,  which 
added  to  the  outlandish  effect  of  his  appearance.  His  nether 
garments,  of  coarse  negro-cloth,  were  girded  round  the 
waist  by  a  strip  of  scarlet  flannel,  in  which  was  thrust  a 
bowie-knife  and  hatchet.  Over  one  shoulder  he  carried  a 
rifle,  and  a  shot-pouch  was  suspended  to  his  belt.  A  rude 
game-bag  hung  upon  his  arm.  Wild  and  startling  as  the 
apparition  might  have  been,  it  appeared  to  be  no  stranger  to 
Harry  ;  for,  after  the  first  movement  of  surprise,  he  said,  in 
a  tone  of  familiar  recognition,  in  which  there  was  blended 
somewhat  of  awe  and  respect : 

"0,  it  is  you,  then,  Dred  !  I  didn't  know  that  you 
were  hearing  me  !  " 

"  Have  I  not  heard  ?  "  said  the  speaker,  raising  his  arm, 
and  his  eyes  gleaming  with  wild  excitement.  "  How  long 
wilt  thou  halt  between  two  opinions  ?  Did  not  Moses  re- 
fuse to  be  called  the  son  of  Pharaoh's  daughter  ?  How  long 
wilt  thou  cast  in  thy  lot  with  the  oppressors  of  Israel,  who 
say  unto  thee,  '  Bow  down  that  we  may  walk  over  thee  '  ? 
Shall  not  the  Red  Sea  be  divided  ?  '  Yea/  saith  the  Lord, 
'it  shall.'" 

"  Dred  !  I  know  what  you  mean  !  "  said  Harry,  trem- 
bling with  excitement. 

"Yea,  thou  dost!"  said  the  figure.     "Yea,  thou  dost! 

Hast  thou  not  eaten  the  fat  and  drunk  the  sweet  with  the 

oppressor,  and  hid  thine  eyes  from  the  oppression  of  thy 

people  ?     Have  not  our  wives  been  for  a  prey,  and  thou 

21 


242  DRED. 

hast  not  regarded  ?  Ilath  not  our  cheek  been  given  to  the 
smiter  ?  Have  we  not  been  counted  as  sheep  for  the  slaugh- 
ter ?  But  thou  saidst,  Lo  !  I  knew  it  not,  and  didst  hide 
thine  eyes  !  Therefore,  the  curse  of  Meroz  is  upon  thee, 
saith  the  Lord.  And  thou  shalt  bow  down  to  the  oppressor, 
and  his  rod  shall  be  upon  thee  ;  and  thy  wife  shall  be  for 
a  prey  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  way  !  —  don't !  "  said  Harry,  striking 
out  his  hands  with  a  frantic  gesture,  as  if  to  push  back  the 
words.     "  You  are  raising  the  very  devil  in  me  !  " 

"  Look  here,  Harry,"  said  the  other,  dropping  from  the 
high  tone  he  at  first  used  to  that  of  common  conversation, 
and  speaking  in  bitter  irony,  "  did  your  master  strike  you  ? 
It 's  sweef  to  kiss  the  rod,  is  n't  it  ?  Bend  your  neck  and 
ask  to  be  struck  again  !  —  won't  you  ?  Be  meek  and  lowly  ; 
that 's  the  religion  for  you  !  You  are  a  slave,  and  you  wear 
broadcloth,  and  sleep  soft.  By  and  by  he  will  give  you  a 
fip  to  buy  salve  for  those  cuts !  Don't  fret  about  your  wife  ! 
Women  always  like  the  master  better  than  the  slave  !  Why 
should  n't  they  ?  When  a  man  licks  his  master's  foot,  his 
wife  scorns  him,  —  serves  him  right.  Take  it  meekly,  my 
boy!  '  Servants,  obey  your  masters.'  Take  your  master's 
old  coats  —  take  your  wife  when  he  's  done  with  her  —  and 
bless  God  that  brought  you  under  the  light  of  the  Gospel ! 
Go  !  you  are  a  slave  !  But,  as  for  me,"  he  said,  drawing 
up  his  head,  and  throwing  back  his  shoulders  with  a 
deep  inspiration,  "I  am  a  free  man!  Free  by  this," 
holding  out  his  rifle.  "Free  by  the  Lord  of  hosts,  that 
numbereth  the  stars,  and  calleth  them  forth  by  their  names. 
Go  home  —  that 's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  !  You  sleep  in  a 
curtained  bed.  — I  sleep  on  the  ground,  in  the  swamps  ! 
You  eat  the  fat  of  the  land.  I  have  what  the  ravens  bring 
me  !  But  no  man  whips  me  !  —  no  man  touches  my  wife  ! 
—  no  man  says  to  me,  'Why  do  ye  so  ? '  Go  !  you  are  a 
slave! — I  am  free!"  And,  with  one  athletic  bound,  he 
sprang  into  the  thicket,  and  was  gone. 

The  effect  of  this  address  on  the  already  excited  mind  of 


DEED.  243 

the  bondman  may  be  better  conceived  than  described.  lie 
ground  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  hands. 

"Stop!"  he  cried,  "  Dred,  I  will  —  I  will  —  I  '11  do  as 
you  tell  me  —  I  will  not-be  a  slave  !  " 

A  scornful  laugh  was  the  only  reply,  and  the  sound  of 
crackling  footsteps  retreated  rapidly.  He  who  retreated 
struck  up,  in  a  clear,  loud  voice,  one  of  those  peculiar  mel- 
odies in  which  vigor  and  spirit  are  blended  with  a  wild,  in- 
expressible mournfulness.  The  voice  was  one  of  a  singular 
and  indescribable  quality  of  tone  ;  it  was  heavy  as  the  sub- 
bass  of  an  organ,  and  of  a  velvety  softness,  and  yet  it 
seemed  to  pierce  the  air  with  a  keen  dividing  force  which 
is  generally  characteristic  of  voices  of  much  less  volume. 
The  words  were  the  commencement  of  a  wild  camp-meeting 
hymn,  much  in  vogue  in  those  parts  : 

"  Brethren,  don't  you  hear  the  sound  ? 
The  martial  trumpet  now  is  blowing  ; 
Men  in  order  listing  round, 

And  soldiers  to  the  standard  flowing." 

There  was  a  wild,  exultant  fulness  of  liberty  that  rolled  in 
the  note  ;  and,  to  Harry's  excited  car,  there  seemed  in  it  a 
fierce  challenge  of  contempt  to  his  imbecility,  and  his  soul 
at  that  moment  seemed  to  be  rent  asunder  with  a  pang  such 
as  only  those  can  know  who  have  felt  what  it  is  to  be  a 
slave.  There  was  an  uprising  within  him,  vague,  tumult- 
uous, overpowering  ;  dim  instincts,  heroic  aspirations  ;  the 
will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare  ;  and  then,  in  a  moment,  there 
followed  the  picture  of  all  societ}r  leagued  against  him,  the 
hopeless  impossibility  of  any  outlet  to  what  was  burning 
within  him.  The  waters  of  a  nature  naturally  noble,  pent 
up,  and  without  outlet,  rolled  back  upon  his  heart  with  a 
suffocating  force ;  and,  in  his  hasty  anguish,  he  cursed  the 
day  of  his  birth.  The  spasm  of  his  emotion  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Milly  coming  along 
the  path. 

".  Why,  bless  you,  Milly,"  said  Harry,  in  sudden  sur- 
prise, ''■  where  are  you  going  ?  " 


244  DREB. 

"  0,  bless  you,  honey,  chile,  I  's  gwine  on  to  take  de 
stage.  Dey  wanted  to  get  up  de  wagon  for  me  ;  but,  bless 
you,  says  I,  what  you  s'pose  de  Lord  gin  us  legs  for?  I 
never  wants  no  critturs  to  tug  me  round,  when  I  can  walk 
myself.  And,  den,  honey,  it 's  so  pleasant  like,  to  be  a 
walking  along  in  de  bush  here,  in  de  morning ;  'pears  like 
de  voice  of  de  Lord  is  walking  among  de  trees.  But, 
bless  you,  chile,  honey,  what 's  de  matter  o'  yer  face  ?  " 

"  It  'a  Tom  Gordon,  d n  him  !  "  said  Harry. 

"  Don't  talk  dat  ar  way,  chile  !  "  said  Milly  ;  using  the 
freedom  with  Harry  which  her  years  and  weight  of  charac- 
ter had  gradually  secured  for  her  among  the  members  of  the 
plantation. 

"  I  will  talk  that  way  !  Why  should  n't  I  ?  I  am  not 
going  to  be  good  any  longer." 

"  Why,  't  won't  help  de  matter  to  be  bad,  will  it,  Harry? 
'Cause  you  hate  Tom  Gordon,  does  you  want  to  act  just  bike 
him?" 

"  No  !  "  said  Harry,  "  I  won't  be  like  him,  but  I  '11  have 
my  revenge  !  Old  Dred  has  been  talking  to  me  again,  this 
morning.  He  always  did  stir  me  up  so  that  I  could  hardly 
live  ;  and  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer  !  " 

"Chile,"  said  Milly,  "you  take  care!  Keep  clear  on 
him  !  He  \s  in  de  wilderness  of  Sinai ;  he  is  with  de  black- 
ness, and  darkness,  and  tempest.  He  han't  come  to  de 
heavenly  Jerusalem.  0  !  0  !  honey  !  dere  's  a  blood  of 
sprinkling  dat  speaketh  better  things  dan  dat  of  Abel. 
Jerusalem  above  is  free  —  is  free,  honey  ;  so,  don't  you 
mind,  now,  what  happens  in  dis  yer  time." 

"  Ah,  ah,  Aunt  Milly  !  this  may  do  well  enough  for  old 
women  like  you ;  but,  stand  opposite  to  a  young  fellow  like 
me,  with  good  strong  arms,  and  a  pair  of  doubled  fists,  and 
a  body  and  soul  just  as  full  of  fight  as  they  can  be  ;  it  don't 
answer  to  go  to  telling  about  a  heavenly  Jerusalem  !  We 
want  something  here.  We  '11  have  it  too  !  How  do  you 
know  there  is  any  heaven,  any  how  ?  " 

"  Know  it  ? "  said  Milly,  her  eye  kindling,  and  striking  her 


DEED.  245 

staff  on  the  ground.  "  Know  it  ?  I  knows  it  by  de  han- 
kering arfer  it  I  got  in  here  ;  "  giving  her  broad  chest  a 
blow  which  made  it  resound  like  a  barrel.  "  De  Lord 
knowed  what  he  was  'bout  when  he  made  us.  When  he 
made  babies  rooting  round,  with  der  poor  little  mouths 
open,  he  made  milk,  and  de  mammies  for  'em  too.  Chile, 
we  's  nothing  but  great  babies,  dat  an't  got  our  eyes 
opened  —  rooting  round  and  round  ;  but  de  Father  '11  feed 
us  yet  —  he  will  so." 

"  He  's  a  long  time  about  it,"  said  Harry,  sullenly. 

"  Well,  chile,  an't  it  a  long  time  'fore  your  corn  sprouts  — 
a  long  time  'fore  it  gets  into  de  ears  ?  —  but  you  plants,  for 
all  dat.  What 's  dat  to  me  what  I  is  here  ?  —  Shan't  I  reign 
with  de  Lord  Jesus  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Harry. 

"  Well,  honey,  I  does!  Jest  so  sure  as  I 's  standing  on 
dis  yer  ground,  I  knows  in  a  few  years  I  .shall  be  reign- 
ing with  de  Lord  Jesus,  and  a  casting  my  crown  at  his 
feet.  Dat 's  what  I  knows.  Flesh  and  blood  did  n't  reveal 
it  unto  me,  but  de  Spirit  of  de  Father.  It 's  no  odds  to  me 
what  I  does  here  ;  every  road  leads  straight  to  glory,  and 
de  glory  an't  got  no  end  to  it !  "  And  Milly  uplifted  her 
voice  in  a  favorite  stave  — 

"  When  we  've  been  dere  ten  thousand  years, 
Bright  shining  like  de  sun, 
We  've  no  less  days  to  sing  God's  praise 
Than  when  we  first  begun." 

"  Chile,"  said  she  to  him,  solemnly,  "  I  an't  a  fool. 
Does  ye  s'pose  dat  I  thinks  folks  has  any  business  to  be 
sitting  on  der  cheers  all  der  life  long,  and  A^orking  me, 
and  living  on  my  money  ?  Why,  I  knows  dey  han't !  An't 
it  all  wrong,  from  fust  to  last,  de  way  d  iy  makes  merchan- 
dise o'  us  !  Why,  I  knows  it  is  :  but  I  's  still  about  it,  for 
de  Lord's  sake.  I  don't  work  for  Miss  Loo  —  I  works  for  de 
Lord  Jesus  ;  and  he  is  good  pay  —  no  mistake,  now  I  tell 
you." 

21* 


246  DEED. 

"Well,"  said  Harry,  a  little  shaken,  but  not  convinced, 
"after  all,  there  isn't  much  use  in  trying  to  do  any  other 
way.  But  you  're  lucky  in  feeling  so,  Aunt  Milly  ;  but  I 
can't." 

"  Well,  chile,  any  way,  don't  you  do  nothing  rash,  and 
don't  you  hear  him.  Dat  ar  way  out  is  through  seas  of 
blood.  Why,  chile,  would  you  turn  against  Miss  Nina  ? 
Chile,  if  they  get  a  going,  they  won't  spare  nobody.  Don't 
you  start  up  dat  ar  tiger  ;  'cause,  I  tell  ye,  ye  can't  chain 
him,  if  ye  do  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  "  I  see  it's  all  madness,  perfect  mad- 
ness ;  there  's  no  use  thinking,  no  use  talking.  Well,  good- 
morning,  Aunt  Milly.  Peace  go  with  you !  "  And  the 
young  man  started  his  horse,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

TEE    CONSPIRATORS. 

We  owe  our  readers  now  some  words  of  explanation 
respecting-  the  new  personage  who  has  been  introduced  into 
our  history ;  therefore  we  must  go  back  somewhat,  and 
allude  to  certain  historical  events  of  painful  significance. 

It  has  been  a  problem  to  many,  how  the  system  of  slavery 
in  America  should  unite  the  two  apparent  inconsistencies 
of  a  code  of  slave-laws  more  severe  than  that  of  any  other 
civilized  nation,  with  an  average  practice  at  least  as  indul- 
gent as  any  other  ;  for,  bad  as  slavery  is  at  the  best,  it  may 
yet  be  admitted  that  the  practice,  as  a  whole,  has  been, 
less  cruel  in  this  country  than  in  many.  An  examination 
into  history  will  show  us  that  the  cruelty  of  the  laws 
resulted  from  the  effects  of  indulgent  practice.  During 
the  first  years  of  importation  of  slaves  into  South  Carolina, 
they  enjoyed  many  privileges.  Those  who  lived  in  intelligent 
families,  and  had  any  desire  to  learn,  were  instructed  in 
reading  and  writing.  Liberty  was  given  them  to  meet  in 
assemblies  of  worship,  in  class-meetings,  and  otherwise, 
without  the  presence  of  white  witnesses  ;  and  many  were 
raised  to  situations  of  trust  and  consequence.  The  result 
of  this  was  the  development  of  a  good  degree  of  intelligence 
and  manliness  among  the  slaves.  There  arose  among  them 
grave,  thoughtful,  energetic  men,  with  their  ears  and  eyes 
open,  and  their  minds  constantly  awake  to  compare  and 
reason. 

"WTien  minds  come  into  this  state,  in  a  government  pro- 
fessing to  be  founded  on  principles  of  universal  equality,  it 


248  THE    CONSPIRATORS. 

follows  that  almost  every  public  speech,  document,  or 
newspaper,  becomes  an  incendiary  publication. 

Of  this  fact  the  southern  slave  states  have  ever  exhibited 
the  most  singular  unconsciousness.  Documents  containing 
sentiments  most  dangerous  for  slaves  to  hear  have  been 
publicly  read  and  applauded  among  them.  The  slave  has 
heard,  amid  shouts,  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  that  his  masters 
held  the  truth  to  be  self-evident,  that  all  men  were  ^zorn 
equal,  and  had  an  inalienable  right  to  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness  ;  and  that  all  governments  derive  their 
just  power  from  the  consent  of  the  governed.  Even  the 
mottoes  of  newspapers  have  embodied  sentiments  of  the 
most  insurrectionary  character. 

Such  inscriptions  as  "  Resistance  to  tyrants  is  obedience 
to  God"  stand,  to  this  day,  in  large  letters,  at  the  head  of 
southern  newspapers  ;  while  speeches  of  senators  and  public 
men,  in  which  the  principles  of  universal  democracy  are 
asserted,  are  constant  matters  of  discussion.  Under  such 
circumstances,  it  is  difficult  to  induce  the  servant,  who  feels 
that  he  is  a  man,  to  draw  those  lines  which  seem  so  obvious 
to  masters,  by  whom  this  fact  has  been  forgotten.  Accord- 
ingly we  find  that  when  the  discussions  for  the  admission  of 
Missouri  as  a  slave  state  produced  a  wave  whose  waters 
undulated  in  every  part  of  the  Union,  there  were  found 
among  the  slaves  men  of  unusual  thought  and  vigor,  who 
were  no  inattentive  witnesses  and  listeners.  The  discus- 
sions were  printed  in  the  newspapers ;  and  what  was 
printed  in  the  newspapers  was  further  discussed  at  the 
post-office  door,  in  the  tavern,  in  the  bar-room,  at  the  dinner- 
party, where  black  servants  were  listening  behind  the 
chairs.  A  free  colored  man  in  the  city  of  Charleston, 
named  Denmark  Vesey,  was  the  one  who  had  the  hardihood 
to  seek  to  use  the  electric  fluid  in  the  cloud  thus  accu- 
mulated. He  conceived  the  hopeless  project  of  imitating 
the  example  set  by  the  American  race,  and  achieving  inde- 
pendence for  the  blacks. 

Our  knowledge  of  this  man  is  derived  entirely  from  the 


THE    CONSPIRATORS.  249 

printed  reports  of  the  magistrates  who  gave  an  account  of 
the  insurrection,  of  which  he  was  the  instigator,  and  who 
will  not,  of  course,  be  supposed  to  be  unduly  prejudiced 
in  his  favor.  They  state  that  he  was  first  brought  to 
the  country  by  one  Captain  Vesey,  a  young  lad,  distin- 
guished for  personal  beauty  and  great  intelligence,  and  that 
he  proved,  for  twenty  years,  a  most  faithful  slave  ;  but,  on 
drawing  a  prize  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in  the  lottery,  he 
purchased  his  freedom  of  his  master,  and  worked  as  a  car- 
penter in  the  city  of  Charleston.  He  was  distinguished  for 
strength  and  activity,  and,  as  the  accounts  state,  maintained 
such  an  irreproachable  character,  and  enjoyed  so  much  the 
confidence  of  the  whites,  that  when  he  was  aecused,  the 
charge  was  not  only  discredited,  but  he  was  not  even 
arrested  for  several  days  after,  and  not  till  the  proof  of  his 
guilt  had  become  too  strong  to  be  doubted.  His  historians 
go  on,  with  considerable  naivete,  to  remark  : 

"  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  ivhat  motive  he  had  to  enter  into 
"  such  a  plot,  unless  it  was  the  one  mentioned  by  one  of  the 
"  witnesses,  who  said  that  Vesey  had  several  children  who 
"  were  slaves,  and  that  he  said,  on  one  occasion,  he  wished  he 
"  could  see  them  free,  as  he  himself  artfully  remarked  in  his 
"  defence  on  his  trial." 

It  appears  that  the  project  of  rousing  and  animating  the 
blacks  to  this  enterprise  occupied  the  mind  of  Vesey  for 
more  than  four  years,  during  which  time  he  was  continually 
taking  opportunities  to  animate  and  inspire  the  spirits  of  his 
countrymen.  The  account  states  that  the  speeches  in  Con- 
gress of  those  opposed  to  the  admission  of  Missouri  into  the 
Union,  perhaps  garbled  and  misrepresented,  furnished  him 
with  ample  means  for  inflaming  the  minds  of  the  colored 
population. 

"  Even  while  walking  in  the  street,"  the  account  goes  on 
to  say,  "  he  was  not  idle  ;  for,  if  his  companion  bowed  to  a 
"  white  person,  as  slaves  universally  do,  he  would  rebuke  him, 
"  and  observe,  '  that  all  men  were  born  equal,  and  that  he 
"  was  surprised  that  any  one  would  degrade  himself  by 


250  THE   CONSPIRATORS. 

'  such  conduct ;  that  he  would  never  cringe  to  the  whites  ; 
'  nor  ought  any  one  to,  who  had  the  feelings  of  a  man.'  * 
'When  answered,  'We  are  slaves,7  he  would  say,  sar- 
'  castically  and  indignantly,  '  You  deserve  to  remain 
'  slaves  !  '  And,  if  he  were  further  asked,  '  What  can  we 
'  do  ? '  he  would  remark,  '  Go  and  buy  a  spelling-book,  and 
'  read  the  fable  of  "  Hercules  and  the  Wagoner."  '  He  also 
'  sought  every  opportunity  of  entering  into  conversation 
'  with  white  persons,  during  which  conversation  he  would 
'  artfully  introduce  some  bold  remark  on  slavery  ;  and  some- 
'  times,  when,  from  the  character  he  was  conversing  with, 
'  he  found  he  might  be  still  bolder,  he  would  go  so  far  that, 
'  had  not  his  declarations  been  clearly  proved,  they  would 
'  scarcely  have  been  credited." 

But  his  great  instrument  of  influence  was  a  book  that  has 
always  been  prolific  of  insurrectionary  movements,  under 
all  systems  of  despotism. 

"He  rendered  himself  perfectly  familiar  with  all  those 
"  parts  of  Scripture  which  he  thought  he  could  pervert  to 
"  his  purpose,  and  would  readily  quote  them  to  prove  that 
"  slavery  was  contrary  to  the  laws  of  God,  and  that  slaves 
"  were  bound  to  attempt  their  emancipation,  however  shock- 
"  ing  and  bloody  might  be  the  consequences  ;  that  such 
"  efforts  would  not  only  be  pleasing  to  the  Almighty,  but 
"  were  absolutely  enjoined." 

Vesey,  in  the  course  of  time,  associated  with  himself 
five  slave-men  of  marked  character  —  Rolla,  Ned,  Peter, 
Monday,  and  Gullah  Jack.  Of  these,  the  account  goes  on 
to  say : 

"  In  the  selection  of  his  leaders,  Vesey  showed  great  pen- 
"  etration  and  sound  judgment.  Rolla  was  plausible,  and 
"  possessed  uncommon  self-possession  ;  bold  and  ardent,  he 
"  was  not  to  be  deterred  from  his  purpose  by  danger. 
"  Ned's  appearance  indicated  that  he  was  a  man  of  firm 
"  nerves  and  desperate  courage.     Peter  was  intrepid  and 

*  These  extracts  are  taken  from  the  official  report. 


THE    CONSPIRATORS.  251 

"  resolute,  true  to  his  engagements,  and  cautious  in  observ- 
"  ing  secrecy  where  it  was  necessary ;  he  was  not  to  be 
"  daunted  nor  impeded  by  difficulties,  and,  though  confident 
"  of  success,  was  careful  in  providing  against  any  obstacles 
"  or  casualties  which  might  arise,  and  intent  upon  discov- 
"  ering  every  means  which  might  be  in  their  power,  if 
"  thought  of  beforehand.  Gullah  Jack  was  regarded  as  a 
"  sorcerer,  and,  as  such,  feared  by  the  natives  of  Africa, 
"  who  believe  in  witchcraft.  He  was  not  only  considered 
"invulnerable,  but  that  he  could  make  others  so  by  his 
"  charms,  and  that  he  could,  and  certainly  would,  provide 
"  all  his  followers  with  arms.  He  was  artful,  cruel,  bloody  ; 
"  his  disposition,  in  short,  was  diabolical.  His  influence 
"  among  the  Africans  was  inconceivable.  Monday  was  firm, 
"resolute,  discreet,  and  intelligent." 

"  It  is  a  melancholy  truth  that  the  general  good  conduct 
"  of  all  the  leaders,  except  Gullah  Jack,  was  such  as  ren- 
"  dered  them  objects  least  liable  to  suspicion.  Their  con- 
"  duct  had  secured  them,  not  only  the  unlimited  confidence 
"  of  their  owners,  but  they  had  been  indulged  in  every  com- 
"  fort,  and  allowed  every  privilege  compatible  with  their 
"  situation  in  the  community  ;  and,  though  Gullah  Jack  was 
"  not  remarkable  for  the  correctness  of  his  deportment,  he 
"  by  no  means  sustained  a  bad  character.  But,"  adds  the 
report,  "not  only  were  the  leaders  of  good  character,  and 
"  very  much  indulged  by  their  owners,  but  this  was  very 
"  generally  the  case  with  all  who  were  convicted,  many  of 
"  them  possessing  the  highest  confidence  of  their  owners, 
"  and  not  one  a  bad  character." 

"  The  conduct  and  behavior  of  Vesey  and  his  five  leaders 
"  during  their  trial  and  imprisonment  may  be  interesting 
"  to  many.  When  Vesey  was  tried,  he  folded  his  arms,  and 
"  seemed  to  pay  great  attention  to  the  testimony  given 
"  against  him,  but  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  In  this 
"  situation  he  remained  immovable  until  the  witnesses  had 
"  been  examined  by  the  court,  and  cross-examined  by  his 
"counsel,  when  he  requested  to  be  allowed  to  examine  the 


252  THE    CONSPIRATORS. 

witnesses  himself,  which  he  did:  The  evidence  being 
closed,  he  addressed  the  court  at  considerable  length. 
When  he  received  his  sentence,  tears  trickled  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  Rolla,  when  arraigned,  affected  not  to  understand  the 
charge  against  him  ;  and  when,  at  his  request,  it  was  ex- 
plained to  him,  assumed,  with  wonderful  adroitness,  as- 
tonishment and  surprise.  He  was  remarkable  throughout 
his  trial  for  composure  and  great  presence  of  mind. 
When  he  was  informed  that  he  was  convicted,  and  was 
advised  to  prepare  for  death,  he  appeared  perfectly  con- 
founded, but  exhibited  no  signs  of  fear. 
"  In  Ned's  behavior  there  was  nothing  remarkable.  His 
countenance  was  stern  and  immovable,  even  while  he  was 
receiving  sentence  of  death.  From  his  looks  it  was  im- 
possible to  discover  or  conjecture  what  were  his  feelings. 
Not  so  with  Peter  Poyes.  In  his  countenance  were 
strongly  marked  disappointed  ambition,  revenge,  indigna- 
tion, and  an  anxiety  to  know  how  far  the  discoveries  had 
extended.  He  did  not  appear  to  fear  personal  conse- 
quences, for  his  whole  behavior  indicated  the  reverse,  but 
exhibited  an  evident  anxiety  for  the  success  of  their  plan, 
in  which  his  whole  soul  was  embarked.  His  countenance 
and  behavior  were  the  same  when  he  received  his  sen- 
tence, and  h_s  only  words  were,  on  retiring,  '  I  suppose 
you  '11  let  me  see  my  wife  and  family  before  I  die/  and 
that  in  no  supplicating  tone.  When  he  was  asked,  a  day  or 
two  after,  '  If  it  was  possible  that  he  could  see  his  master 
and  family  murdered,  who  had  treated  him  so  kindly  ? ' 
he  replied  to  the  question  only  by  a  smile.  In  their  prison, 
the  convicts  resolutely  refused  to  make  any  confessions  or 
communications  which  might  implicate  others  ;  and  Peter 
Poyes  sternly  enjoined  it  upon  them  to  maintain  this  silence 
—  '  Do  not  open  your  lips  ;  die  silent,  as  you  will  see  me  do  ! ' 
and  in  this-  resolute  silence  they  met  their  fate.  Twenty- 
two  of  the  conspirators  were  executed  upon  one  gal- 
lows." 


THE   COXSPIEATOES.  253 

The  account  says,  "  That  Peter  Poyes  was  one  of  the  most 
"  active  of  the  recruiting  agents.  All  the  principal  con- 
"  spirators  kept  a  list  of  those  who  had  consented  to  join 
"  them,  and  Peter  was  said,  by  one  of  the  witnesses,  to 
"  have  had  six  hundred  names  on  his  list ;  but,  so  resolutely 
"  to  the  last  did  he  observe  his  pleclge  of  secrecy  to  his 
"  associates,  that,  of  the  whole  number  arrested  and  tried, 
"  not  one  of  them  belonged  to  his  company.  In  fact,  in  an 
"  insurrection  in  which  thousands  of  persons  were  supposed 
"  to  have  been  implicated,  only  thirty-six  were  convicted." 

Among  the  children  of  Denmark  Vesey  was  a  boy  by  a 
Mandingo  slave-woman,  who  was  his  father's  particular 
favorite.  The  Mandingos  are  one  of  the  finest  of  African 
tribes,  distinguished  for  intelligence,  beauty  of  form,  and  an 
indomitable  pride  and  energy  of  nature.  As  slaves,  they 
are  considered  particularly  valuable  by  those  who  have  tact 
enough  to  govern  them,  because  of  their  great  capability 
and  their  proud  faithfulness  ;  but  they  resent  a  government 
of  brute  force,  and  under  such  are  always  fractious  and 
dangerous.    , 

This  boy  received  from  his  mother  the  name  of  Dred  ;  a 
name  not  unusual  among  the  slaves,  and  generally  given  to 
those  of  great  physical  force. 

The  development  of  this  child's  mind  was  so  uncommon 
as  to  excite  astonishment  among  the  negroes.  He  early 
acquired  the  power  of  reading,  by  an  apparent  instinctive 
faculty,  and  would  often  astonish  those  around  him  Avith 
things  which  he  had  discovered  in  books.  Like  other  chil- 
dren of  a  deep  and  fervent  nature,  he  developed  great  reli- 
gious ardor,  and  often  surprised  the  older  negroes  by  his 
questions  and  replies  on  this  subject.  A  son  so  endowed 
could  not  but  be  an  object  of  great  pride  and  interest  to  a 
father  like  Denmark  Vesey.  The  impression  seemed  to  pre- 
vail universally  among  the  negroes  that  this  child  was  born 
for  extraordinary  things  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  the  yearning 
to  acquire  liberty  for  the  development  of  such  a  mind  which 
first  led  Denmark  Vesey  to  reflect  on  the  nature  of  slavery, 


254  THE    CONSPIEATOES. 

and  the  terrible  weights  which  it  lays  on  the  human  intel- 
lect, and  to  conceive  the  project  of  liberating  a  race. 

The  Bible,  of  which  Vesey  was  an  incessant  reader, 
stimulated  this  desire.  He  likened  his  own  position  of  com- 
parative education,  competence,  and  general  esteem  among 
the  whites,  to  that  of  Moses  among  the  Egyptians  ;  and 
nourished  the  idea  that,  like  Moses,  he  was  sent  as  a  deliv- 
erer. During  the  process  of  the  conspiracy,  this  son, 
though  but  ten  years  of  age, was  his  father's  confidant ;  and 
he  often  charged  him,  though  he  should  fail  in  the  attempt, 
never  to  be  discouraged.  He  impressed  it  upon  his  mind 
that  he  should  never  submit  tamely  to  the  yoke  of  slavery ; 
and  nourished  the  idea  already  impressed,  that  some  more 
than  ordinary  destiny  was  reserved  for  him.  After  the 
discovery  of  the  plot,  and  the  execution  of  its  leaders, 
those  more  immediately  connected  with  them  were  sold 
from  the  state,  even  though  not  proved  to  have  par- 
ticipated. With  the  most  guarded  caution,  Vesey  had  ex- 
empted this  son  from  suspicion.  It  had  been  an  agreed 
policy  with  them  both,  that  in  the  presence  of  others  they 
should  counterfeit  alienation  and  dislike.  Their  confidential 
meetings  with  each  other  had  been  stolen  and  secret.  At 
the  time  of  his  father's  execution,  Dred  was  a  lad  of  four- 
teen. He  could  not  be  admitted  to  his  father's  prison,  but 
he  was  a  witness  of  the  undaunted  aspect  with  which  he 
and  the  other  conspirators  met  their  doom.  The  memory 
dropped  into  the  depths  of  his  soul,  as  a  stone  drops  into 
the  desolate  depths  of  a  dark  mountain  lake. 

Sold  to  a  distant  plantation,  he  became  noted  for  his  des- 
perate, unsubduable  disposition.  He  joined  in  none  of  the 
social  recreations  and  amusements  of  the  slaves,  labored 
with  proud  and  silent  assiduity,  but,  on  the  slightest  rebuke 
or  threat,  flashed  up  with  a  savage  fierceness,  which,  sup- 
ported by  his  immense  bodily  strength,  made  him  an  object 
of  dread  among  overseers.  He  was  one  of  those  of  whom 
they  gladly  rid  themselves  ;  and,  like  a  fractious  horse,  was 
sold  from  master  to  master.     Finally,  an  overseer,  hardier 


THE    CONSPIRATOES.  255 

than  the  rest,  determined  on  the  task  of  subduing  him.  In 
the  scuffle  that  ensued  Dred  struck  him  to  the  earth,  a  dead 
man,  made  his  escape  to  the  swamps,  and  was  never  after- 
wards heard  of  in  civilized  life. 

The  reader  who  consults  the  map  will  discover  that  the 
whole  eastern  shore  of  the  Southern  States,  with  slight 
interruptions,  is  belted  by  an  immense  chain  of  swamps, 
regions  of  hopeless  disorder,  where  the  abundant  growth 
and  vegetation  of  nature,  sucking  up  its  forces  from  the 
humid  soil,  seems  to  rejoice  in  a  savage  exuberance,  and 
bid  defiance  to  all  human  efforts  either  to  penetrate  or 
subdue.  These  wild  regions  are  the  homes  of  the  alligator, 
the  mocassin,  and  the  rattle-snake.  Evergreen  trees,  min- 
gling freely  with  the  deciduous  children  of  the  forest,  form 
here  dense  jungles,  verdant  all  the  year  round,  and  which 
afford  shelter  to  numberless  birds,  with  whose  warbling  the 
leafy  desolation  perpetually  resounds.  Climbing  vines,  and 
parasitic  plants,  of  untold  splendor  and  boundless  exuber- 
ance of  growth,  twine  and  interlace,  and  hang  from  the 
heights  of  the  highest  trees  pennons  of  gold  and  purple, 

—  triumphant  banners,  which  attest  the  solitary  majesty  of 
nature.  A  species  of  parasitic  moss  wreaths  its  abundant 
draperies  from  tree  to  tree,  and  hangs  in  pearly  festoons, 
through  which  shine  the  scarlet  berry  and  green  leaves  of 
the  American  holly. 

What  the  mountains  of  Switzerland  were  to  the  perse- 
cuted Vaudois,  this  swampy  belt  has  been  to  the  American 
slave.  The  constant  effort  to  recover  from  thence  fugi- 
tives has  led  to  the  adoption,  in  these  states,  of  a  separate 
profession,  unknown  at  this  time  in  any  other  Christian  land 

—  hunters,  who  train  and  keep  dogs  for  the  hunting  of  men, 
women,  and  children.  And  yet,  with  all  the  convenience  of 
this  profession,  the  reclaiming  of  the  fugitives  from  these 
fastnesses  of  nature  has  been  a  work  of  such  expense  and 
difficulty,  that  the  near  proximity  of  the  swamp  has  always 
been  a  considerable  check  on  the  otherwise  absolute  power 
of  the  overseer.     Dred  carried  with  him  to  the  swamp  but 


256  THE    CONSPIRATORS. 

one  solitary  companion  —  the  Bible  of  his  father.  To  him 
it  was  not  the  messenger  of  peace  and  good-will,  but  the 
herald  of  woe  and  wrath  ! 

As  the  mind,  looking  on  the  great  volume  of  nature,  sees 
there  a  reflection  of  its  own  internal  passions,  and  seizes  on 
that  in  it  which  sympathizes  with  itself,  —  as  the  fierce  and 
savage  soul  delights  in  the  roar  of  torrents,  the  thunder  of 
avalanches,  and  the  whirl  of  ocean-storms,  —  so  is  it  in  the 
great  answering  volume  of  revelation.  There  is  something 
there  for  every  phase  of  man's  nature  ;  and  hence  its  end- 
less vitality  and  stimulating  force.  Dred  had  heard  read, 
in  the  secret  meetings  of  conspirators,  the  wrathful  de- 
nunciations of  ancient  prophets  against  oppression  and 
injustice.  He  had  read  of  kingdoms  convulsed  by  plagues ; 
of  tempest,  and  pestilence,  and  locusts  ;  of  the  sea  cleft  in 
twain,  that  an  army  of  slaves  might  pass  through,  and  of 
their  pursuers  whelmed  in  the  returning  waters.  He  had 
heard  of  prophets  and  deliverers,  armed  with  supernatural 
powers,  raised  up  for  oppressed  people  ;  had  pondered  on 
the  nail  of  Jael,  the  goad  of  Sham  gar,  the  pitcher  and  lamp 
of  Gideon  ;  and  thrilled  with  fierce  joy  as  he  read  how  Sam- 
son, with  his  two  strong  arms,  pulled  down  the  pillars  of  the 
festive  temple,  and  whelmed  his  triumphant  persecutors  in 
one  grave  with  himself. 

In  the  vast,  solitudes  which  he  daily  traversed,  these 
things  entered  deep  into  his  soul.  Cut  off  from  all  human 
companionship,  often  going  weeks  without  seeing  a  human 
face,  there  was  no  recurrence  of  every-day  and  prosaic  ideas 
to  check  the  current  of  the  enthusiasm  thus  kindled.  Even 
in  the  soil  of  the  cool  Saxon  heart  the  Bible  has  thrown  out 
its  roots  with  an  all-pervading  energy,  so  that  the  whole 
frame-work  of  society  may  be  said  to  rest  on  soil  held 
together  by  its  fibres.  Even  in  cold  and  misty  England, 
armies  have  been  made  defiant  and  invincible  by  the  in- 
comparable force  and  deliberate  valor  which  it  breathes  into 
men.     But,  when  this  oriental  seed,  an  exotic  among  us,  is 


THE    COXSPIRATOES.  257 

planted  back  in  the  fiery  soil  of  a  tropical  heart,  it  bursts 
forth  with  an  incalculable  ardor  of  growth. 

A  stranger  cannot  fail  to  remark  the  fact  that,  though  the 
slaves  of  the  South  are  unable  to  read  the  Bible  for  them- 
selves, yet  most  completely  have  its  language  and  sentiment 
penetrated  among  them,  giving  a  Hebraistic  coloring  to 
their  habitual  mode  of  expression.  How  much  greater, 
then,  must  have  been  the  force  of  the  solitary  perusal  of 
this  volume  on  so  impassioned  a  nature  !  —  a  nature,  too, 
kindled  by  memories  of  the  self-sacrificing  ardor  with  which 
a  father  and  his  associates  had  met  death  at  the  call  of  free- 
dom ;  for,  none  of  us  may  deny  that,  wild  and  hopeless  as 
this  scaeme  was,  it  was  still  the  same  in  kind  with  the  more 
successful  one  which  purchased  for  our  fathers  a  national 
existence. 

A  mind  of  the  most  passionate  energy  and  vehemence, 
thus  awakened,  for  years  made  the  wild  solitudes  of  the 
swamp  its  home.  That  book,  so  full  of  startling  symbols 
and  vague  images,  had  for  him  no  interpreter  but  the  silent 
courses  of  nature.  His  life  passed  in  a  kind  of  dream. 
Sometimes,  traversing  for  weeks  these  desolate  regions,  he 
would  compare  himself  to  Elijah  traversing  for  forty  days 
and  nights  the  solitudes  of  Horeb  ;  or  to  John  the  Baptist 
in  the  wilderness,  girding  himself  with  camel's  hair,  and 
eating  locusts  and  wild  honey.  Sometimes  he  would  fast, 
and  pray  for  days  ;  and  then  voices  would  seem  to  speak 
to  him,  and  strange  hieroglyphics  would  be  written  upon 
the  leaves.  In  less  elevated  moods  of  mind,  he  would  pur- 
sue, with  great  judgment  and  vigor,  those  enterprises  neces- 
sary to  preserve  existence.  The  negroes  lying  out  in  the 
swamps  are  not  so  wholly  cut  off  from  society  as  might  at 
first  be  imagined.  The  slaves  of  all  the  adjoining  plantations, 
whatever  they  may  pretend,  to  secure  the  good-will  of  their 
owners,  are  at  heart  secretly  disposed,  from  motives  both  of 
compassion  and  policy,  to  favor  the  fugitives.  They  very 
readily  perceive  that,  in  the  event  of  any  difficulty  occurring 
to  themselves,  it  might  be  quite  necessary  to  have  a  friend 
22* 


258  THE   CONSPIRATORS. 

and  protector  in  the  swamp  ;  and  therefore  they  do  not 
hesitate  to  supply  these  fugitives,  so  far  as  they  are  able, 
with  anything  which  they  may  desire.  The  poor  whites, 
also,  who  keep  small  shops  in  the  neighborhood  of  planta- 
tions, are  never  particularly  scrupulous,  provided  they  can 
turn  a  penny  to  their  own  advantage  ;  and  willingly  sup- 
ply necessary  wares  in  exchange  for  game,  with  which  the 
swamp,  abounds. 

Dred,  therefore,  came  in  possession  of  an  excellent  rifle, 
and  never  wanted  for  ammunition,  which  supplied  him  with 
an  abundance  of  food.  Besides  this,  there  are  here  and 
there  elevated  spots  in  the  swampy  land,  which,  by  iudicious 
culture,  are  capable  of  great  productiveness.  And  many 
such  spots  Dred  had  brought  under  cultivation,  either  with 
his  own  hands,  or  from  those  of  other  fugitives,  whom  he 
had  received  and  protected.  From  the  restlessness  of 
his  nature,  he  had  not  confined  himself  to  any  particular 
region,  but  had  traversed  the  whole  swampy  belt  of  both 
the  Carolinas,  as  well  as  that  of  Southern  Virginia  ;  residing 
a  few  months  in  one  place,  and  a  few  months  in  another. 
Wherever  he  stopped,  he  formed  a  sort  of  retreat,  where  he 
received  and  harbored  fugitives.  On  one  occasion,  he  res- 
cued a  trembling  and  bleeding  mulatto  woman  from  the 
dogs  of  the  hunters,  who  had  pursued  her  into  the  swamp. 
This  woman  he  made  his  wife,  and  appeared  to  entertain  a 
very  deep  affection  for  her.  He  made  a  retreat  for  her,  with 
more  than  common  ingenuity,  in  the  swamp  adjoining  the 
Gordon  plantation  ;  and,  after  that,  he  was  more  especially 
known  in  that  locality.  He  had  fixed  his  eye  upon  Harry, 
as  a  person  whose  ability,  address,  and  strength  of  charac- 
ter, might  make  him  at  some  day  a  leader  in  a  conspiracy 
against  the  whites.  Harry,  in  common  with  many  of  the 
slaves  on  the  Gordon  plantation,  knew  perfectly  well  of  the 
presence  of  Dred  in  the  neighborhood,  and  had  often  seen 
and  conversed  with  him.  But  neither  he  nor  any  of  the 
rest  of  them  ever  betrayed  before  any  white  person  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  the  fact. 


THE    COXSPIEATOES.  259 

This  ability  of  profound  secrecy  is  one  of  the  invaria- 
ble attendants  of  a  life  of  slavery.  Harry  was  acute 
enough  to  know  that  his  position  was  by  no  means  so  se- 
cure that  he  could  afford  to  dispense  with  anything-  which 
might  prove  an  assistance  in  some  future  emergency.  The 
low  white  traders  in  the  neighborhood  also  knew  Dred  well ; 
but,  as  long  as  they  could  drive  an  advantageous  trade  with 
him,  he  was  secure  from  their  intervention.  So  secure  had 
he  been,  that  he  had  been  even  known  to  mingle  in  the 
motley  throng  of  a  camp-meeting  unmolested.  Thus  much 
with  regard  to  one  who  is  to  appear  often  on  the  stage 
before  our  history  is  done. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

SUMMER    TALK    AT    CANEMA. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  clays  the  family  circle  at  Canema  was 
enlarged  by  the  arrival  of  Clayton's  sister  ;  and  Carson,  in 
excellent  spirits,  had  started  for  a  Northern  watering-place. 
Tn  answer  to  Nina's  letter  of  invitation,  Anne  had  come 
with  her  father,  who  was  called  to  that  vicinity  by  the  duties 
of  his  profession.  Nina  received  her  with  her  usual  gay 
frankness  of  manner  ;  and  Anne,  like  many  others,  soon 
found  herself  liking  her  future  sister  much  better  than  she 
had  expected.  Perhaps,  bad  Nina  been  in  any  other  situa- 
tion than  that  of  hostess,  her  pride  might  have  led  her  to 
decline  making  the  agreeable  to  Anne,  whom,  notwithstand- 
ing, she  very  much  wished  to  please.  But  she  was  mistress 
of  the  mansion,  and  had  an  Arab's  idea  of  the  privileges  of 
a  guest ;  and  so  she  chatted,  sang,  and  played,  for  her  ;  she 
took  her  about,  showed  her  the  walks,  the  arbors,  the  flower- 
garden  ;  waited  on  her  in  her  own  apartment,  with  a  thou- 
sand little  attentions,  all  the  more  fascinating  from  the  kind 
of  careless  independence  with  which  they  were  rendered. 
Besides,  Nina  had  vowed  a  wicked  little  vow  in  her  heart 
that  she  would  ride  rough-shod  over  Anne's  dignity  ;  that 
she  would  n't  let  her  be  grave  or  sensible,  but  that  she 
should  laugh  and  frolic  with  her.  And  Clayton  could  scarce 
help  smiling  at  the  success  that  soon  crowned  her  exer- 
tions. Nina's  gayety,  when  in  full  tide,  had  a  breezy  infec- 
tiousness in  it,  that  seemed  to  stir  up  every  one  about  her, 
and  cany  them  on  the  tide  of  her  own  spirits  ;  and  Anne, 
in  her  company,  soon  found  herself  laughing  at  everything 
and  nothing,  simply  because  she  felt  gay. 


SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA.  261 

To  crown  all,  Uncle  John  Gordon  arrived,  with  his  cheery, 
jovial  face  ;  and  he  was  one  of  those  fearless,  hit-or-raiss 
talkers,  that  are  invaluable  in  social  dilemmas,  because  they 
keep  something  or  other  all  the  while  in  motion. 

With  him  came  Madam  Gordon,  or,  as  Nina  commonly 
called  her,  Aunt  Maria.  She  was  a  portly,  finely-formed, 
middle-aged  woman,  who  might  have  been  handsome,  had 
not  the  lines  of  care  and  nervous  anxiety  ploughed  them- 
selves so  deeply  in  her  face.  Her  bright,  keen,  hazel  eyes, 
fine  teeth,  and  the  breadth  of  her  ample  form,  attested  the 
vitality  of  the  old  Virginia  stock  from  whence  she  sprung. 

"  There,''  said  Nina,  to  Anne  Clayton,  as  they  sat  in  the 
shady  side  of  the  veranda,  "I've  marshalled  Aunt  Maria 
up  into  Aunt  Nesbit's  room,  and  there  they  will  have  a 
comfortable  dish  of  lamentation  over  me." 

"  Over  you  ?  "  said  Anne. 

"  Yes  —  over  me,  to  be  sure  ! — that 's  the  usual  order  of 
exercises.  Such  a  setting  down  as  I  shall  get!  They'll 
count  up  on  their  fingers  all  the  things  i  ought  to  know  and 
don't,  and  ought  to  do  and  can't.  I  believe  that 's  the  way 
relatives  always  show  their  affection  —  aunts  in  particular 
—  by  mourning  over  you." 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  list  will  they  make  out  ?  "  said 
Anne. 

"  0,  bless  me,  that 's  easy  enough.  Why,  there  's  Aunt 
Maria,  is  a  perfectly  virulent  housekeeper  —  really  insane, 
I  believe,  on  that  subject.  Why,  she  chases  up  every  rat 
and  mouse  and  cockroach,  every  particle  of  dust,  every 
scrap  of  litter.  She  divides  her  hours,  and  is  as  punctual 
as  a  clock.  She  rules  her  household  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and 
makes  everybody  stand  round  ;  and  tells  each  one  how 
many  times  a  day  they  may  wink.  She  keeps  accounts 
like  a  very  dragon,  and  always  is  sure  to  pounce  on  any- 
body that  is  in  the  least  out  of  the  way.  She  cuts  out 
clothes  by  the  bale  ;  she  sews,  and  she  knits,  and  she 
jingles  keys.  And  all  this  kind  of  bustle  she  calls  house- 
keeping !     Now,  what  do  you  suppose  she  must  think  of 


262  SUMMEK  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

me,  who  just  put  on  my  hat  in  the  morning,  and  go  sailing 
down  the  walks,  looking  at  the  flowers,  till  Aunt  Katy  calls 
me  back,  to  know  what  my  orders  are  for  the  day  ?  " 

"  Pray,  who  is  Aunt  Katy  ?  "  said  Anne. 

"  0,  she  is  my  female  prime  minister  ;  and  she  is  very 
much  like  some  prime  ministers  I  have  studied  about  in 
history,  who  always  contrive  to  have  their  own  way,  let 
what  will  come.  Now,  when  Aunt  Katy  comes  and  wants  to 
know,  so  respectfully,  '  What  Miss  Nina  is  going  to  have  for 
dinner/  do  you  suppose  she  has  the  least  expectation  of  get- 
ting anything  that  I  order  ?  She  always  has  fifty  objections 
to  anything  that  I  propose.  For  sometimes  the  fit  comes 
over  me  to  try  to  be  liousekeepy,  like  Aunt  Maria ;  but  it 's 
no  go,  I  can  tell  you.  So,  when  she  has  proved  that  every- 
thing that  I  propose  is  the  height  of  absurdity,  and  shown 
conclusively  that  there  's  nothing  fit  to  be  eaten  in  the 
neighborhood,  by  that  time  I  am  reduced  to  a  proper  state 
of  mind.  And,  when  I  humbly  say,  'Aunt  Katy,  what 
shall  we  do  ?  7  then  she  gives  a  little  cough,  and  out  comes 
the  whole  program,  just  as  she  had  arranged  it  the  night 
before.  And  so  it  goes.  As  to  accounts,  why,  Harry  has 
to  look  after  them.  I  detest  everything  about  money,  ex- 
cept the  spending  of  it  —  I  have  rather  a  talent  for  that. 
Now,  just  think  how  awfully  all  this  must  impress  poor 
Aunt  Maria  !  What  sighings,  and  rollings  up  of  eyes,  and 
shakings  of  heads,  there  are  over  me  !  And,  then,  Aunt 
Nesbit  is  always  dinging  at  me  about  improving  my  mind ! 
And  improving  my  mind  means  reading  some  horrid,  stupid, 
boring  old  book,  just  as  she  does !  Now,  I  like  the  idea  of 
improving  my  mind.  I  am  sure  it  wants  improving,  bad 
enough  ;  but,  then,  I  can't  heljD  thinking  that  racing  through 
the  garden,  and  cantering  through  the  woods,  improves  it 
faster  than  getting  asleep  over  books.  It  seems  to  me  that 
books  are  just  like  dry  hay  —  very  good  when  there  is  n't 
any  fresh  grass  to  be  had.  But  I  'd  rather  be  out  and  eat 
what's  growing.  Now,  what  people  call  nature  never  bores 
me  ;  but  almost  every  book  I  ever  saw  does.     Don't  you 


SUMMER   TALK   AT   CANEMA.  263 

think  people  are  made  differently  ?  Some  like  books,  and 
some  like  things  ;  don't  you  think  so  ? '' 

"  I  can  give  you  a  good  fact  on  your  side  of  the  argu- 
ment/' said  Clayton,  who  had  come  up  behind  them  during 
the  conversation. 

"  I  did  n't  know  I  was  arguing :  but  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  anything  on  my  side,"  said  Nina,  "  of  course." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Clayton,  "I'll  say  that  the  books 
that  have  influenced  the  world  the  longest,  the  widest,  and 
deepest,  have  been  written  by  men  who  attended  to  things 
more  than  to  books  ;  who,  as  you  say,  eat  what  was  grow- 
ing, instead  of  dry  hay.  Homer  could  n't  have  had  much 
to  read  in  his  time,  nor  the  poets  of  the  Bible  ;  and  they 
have  been  fountains  for  all  ages.  I  don't  believe  Shaks- 
peare  was  much  of  a  reader." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Anne,  "  don't  you  think  that,  for  us 
common  folks,  who  are  not  going  to  be  either  Homers  or 
Shakspeares,  that  it 's  best  to  have  two  strings  to  our  bow, 
and  to  gain  instruction  both  from  books  and  things  ?  " 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Clayton,  "if  we  only  use  books 
aright.  With  many  people,  reading  is  only  a  form  of  mental 
indolence,  by  which  they  escape  the  labor  of  thinking  for 
themselves.  Some  persons  are  like  Pharaoh's  lean  kine ; 
they  swallow  book  upon  book,  but  remain  as  lean  as 
ever." 

"My  grandfather  used  to  say,"  said  Anne,  "that  the 
Bible  and  Shakspeare  were  enough  for  a  woman's  library." 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  I  don't  like  Shakspeare,  there  ! 
I'm  coming  out  fiat  with  it.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't 
understand  half  he  says  ;  and,  then,  they  talk  about  his  being 
so  very  natural !  I  'm  sure  I  never  heard  people  talk  as  he 
makes  them.  Now,  did  you  ever  hear  people  talk  in  blank 
verse,  with  every  now  and  then  one  or  two  lines  of  rhyme, 
as  his  characters  do  when  they  go  off  in  long  speeches  ? 
Now,  did  you  ?  " 

"As  to  that,"  said  Clayton,  "it's  about  half  and  half. 
His  conversations  have  just  about  the  same  resemblance  to 


264  SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

real  life  that  acting  at  the  opera  has.  It  is  not  natural  for 
Norma  to  burst  into  a  song  when  she  discovers  the  treach- 
ery of  her  husband.  You  make  that  concession  to  the 
nature  of  the  opera,  in  the  first  place  ;  and  then,  with  that 
reserve,  all  the  rest  strikes  you  as  natural,  and  the  music 
gives  an  added  charm  to  it.  So,  in  Shakspeare,  you 
concede  that  the  plays  are  to  be  poems,  and  that  the  people 
are  to  talk  in  rhythm,  and  with  all  the  exaltation  of  poetic 
sentiment ;  and,  that  being  admitted,  their  conversations 
may  seem  natural." 

"  But  I  can't  understand  a  great  deal  that  Shakspeare 
says,"  said  Nina. 

"  Because  so  many  words  and  usages  are  altered  since 
he  wrote,"  said  Clayton.  "  Because  there  are  so  many  allu- 
sions to  incidents  that  have  passed,  and  customs  that  have 
perished,  that  you  have,  as  it  were,  to  acquire  his  language 
before  you  can  understand  him.  Suppose  a  poem  were 
written  in  a  foreign  tongue  ;  you  could  n't  say  whether  you 
liked  it  or  disliked  it  till  you  could  read  the  language.  Now, 
my  opinion  is,  that  there  is  a  liking  for  Shakspeare  hidden 
in  your  nature,  like  a  seed  that  has  not  sprouted." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  0,  I  see  it  in  you,  just  as  a  sculptor  sees  a  statue  in  a 
block  of  marble." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  chisel  it  out?  "  said  Nina. 

"With  your  leave,"  said  Clayton.  "After  all,  I  like 
your  sincerity  in  saying  what  you  do  think.  I  have  often 
heard  ladies  profess  an  admiration  for  Shakspeare  that  I 
knew  could  n't  be  real.  I  knew  that  they  had  neither  the 
experience  of  life,  nor  the  insight  into  human  nature,  really 
to  appreciate  what  is  in  him  ;  and  that  their  liking  for  him 
was  all  a  worked-up  affair,  because  they  felt  it  would  be 
very  shocking  not  to  like  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  all 
the  sense  you  find  in  my  nonsense.  I  believe  I  shall  keep 
you  to  translate  my  fooleries  into  good  English." 


SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA.  265 

"  You  know  I  'm  quite  at  your  disposal,"  said  Clayton, 
"  for  that  or  anything  else." 

At  this  moment  the  attention  of  Nina  was  attracted  by 
loud  exclamations  from  that  side  of  the  house  where  the 
negro  cottages  were  situated. 

"  Get  along  off!  don't  want  none  o'  yo  old  trash  here! 
No,  no,  Miss  Nina  don't  want  none  o'  yo  old  fish  !  She  's 
got  plenty  of  niggers  to  ketch  her  own  fish." 

"  Somebody  taking  my  name  in  vain  in  those  regions," 
said  Nina,  running  to  the  other  end  of  the  veranda. 
"  Tomtit,"  she  said  to  that  young  worthy,  who  lay  flat  on 
his  back,  kicking  up  his  heels  in  the  sun,  waiting  for  his 
knives  to  clean  themselves,  "  pray  tell  me  what 's  going 
on  there  !  " 

"  Laws,  missis,"  said  Tom,  "  it 's  just  one  of  dese  yer 
poor  white  trash,  coming  round  here  trying  to  sell  one  thing 
o'  nother.  Miss  Loo  says  it  won't  do  'courage  'em,  and  I  ;s 
de  same  'pinion." 

"  Send  him  round'here  to  me,"  said  Nina,  who,  partly 
from  humanity,  and  partly  from  a  spirit  of  contradiction, 
had  determined  to  take  up  for  the  poor  white  folks,  on  all 
occasions.  Tomtit  ran  accordingly,  and  soon  brought  to 
the  veranda  a  man  whose  wretchedly  tattered  clothing 
scarcely  formed  a  decent  covering.  His  cheeks  were  sunken 
and  hollow,  and  he  stood  before  Nina  with  a  cringing,  half- 
ashamed  attitude  ;  and  yet  one  might  see  that,  with  better 
dress  and  better  keeping,  he  might  be  made  to  assume  the 
appearance  of  a  handsome,  intelligent  man.  "  What  do 
you  ask  for  your  fish  ?  "  she  said  to  him. 

"  Anything  ye  pleases  !  " 

"Where  do  you  live?"  said  Nina,  drawing  out  her 
purse. 

"  My  folks  's  staying  on  Mr.  Gordon's  place." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  a  place  of  your  own  to  stay  on  ?  " 
said  Nina 

There  was  an  impatient  glance  flashed  from  the  man's 
23 


266  SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

eye,  but  it  gave  place  immediately  to  his  habitual  cowed 
expression,  as  he  said, 

"Can't  get  work  —  can't  get  money  —  can't  get  noth- 
ing." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  her  Uncle  John,  who  had  been  standing 
for  a  moment  listening  to  the  conversation.  "  This  must 
be  husband  of  that  poor  hobgoblin  that  has  lighted 
down  on  my  place  lately.  Well,  you  may  as  well  pay  him 
a  good  price  for  his  fish.  Keep  them  from  starving  one  day 
longer,  may  be."  And  Nina  paid  the  man  a  liberal  sum,  and 
dismissed  him. 

"  I  suppose,  now,  all  my  eloquence  would  n't  make  Rose 
cook  those  fish  for  dinner,"   said  Nina. 

"  Why  not,  if  you  told  her  to  ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  who 
had  also  descended  to  the  veranda. 

"  Why  not  ?  —  Just  because,  as  she  would  say,  she  had  n't 
laid  out  to  do  it." 

"That's  not  the  way  my  servants  are  taught  to  do  !  " 
said  Aunt  Maria. 

"I'll  warrant  not,"  said  Nina.  "But  yours  and  mine 
are  quite  different  affairs,  aunt.  They  all  do  as  they  have 
a  mind  to,  in  my  '  diggings.'  All  I  stipulate  for  is  a  little 
of  the  same  privilege." 

"  That  man's  wife  and  children  have  come  and  'squatted' 
down  on  my  place,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  laughing;  "  and  so, 
Nin,  all  you  paid  for  his  fish  is  just  so  much  saving  to  me." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  !  Mr.  Gordon  is  just  one  of  those  men 
that  will  have  a  tribe  of  shiftless  hangers  on  at  his  heels  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"  Well,  bless  my  soul !  what 's  a  fellow  to  do  ?  Can't 
see  the  poor  heathen  starve,  can  we  ?  If  society  could  only 
be  organized  over,  now,  there  would  be  hope  for  them.  The 
brain  ought  to  control  the  hands  ;  but  among  us  the  hands 
try  to  set  up  for  themselves  ;  —  and  see  what  comes  of  it !  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  brain  ?  "  said  Nina. 

"  Who  ?  — Why,  we  upper  crust,  to  be  sure  !  We  educated 
people  !    We  ought  to  have  an  absolute  sway  over  the  work- 


SUMMEB  TALK  AT  CAXEMA.  267 

ing  classes,  just  as  the  brain  rules  the  hand.  It  must  come 
to  that,  at  last  —  no  other  arrangement  is  possible.  The 
white  working  classes  can't  take  care  of  themselves,  and 
must  be  put  into  a  condition  for  us  to  take  care  of  them. 
What  is  liberty  to  them  ?  — ■  Only  a  name  —  liberty  to  be 
hungry  and  naked,  that  's  all.  It  's  the  strangest  thing  in 
the  world,  bow  people  stick  to  names  !  I  suppose  that  fel- 
low, up  there,  would  flare  up  terribly  at  being  put  in  with 
my  niggers  ;  and  yet  he  and  his  children  are  glad  of  the 
crumbs  that  fall  from  their  table  !  It  's  astonishing  to  me 
how,  with  such  examples  before  them,  any  decent  man  can 
be  so  stone  blind  as  to  run  a  tilt  against  slavery.  Just 
compare  the  free  working  classes  with  our  slaves  !  Dear 
me  !  the  blindness  of  people  in  this  world  !  It 's  too  much 
for  my  patience,  particularly  in  hot  weather !  "  said  Mr. 
John,  wiping  his  face  with  a  white  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Well,  but,  Uncle  John,"  said  Nina,  "  my  dear  old  gen- 
tleman, you  have  n't  travelled,  as  I  have." 

"  No,  child  !  I  thank  the  Lord  I  never  stepped  my  foot 
out  of  a  slave  state,  and  I  never  mean  to,"  said  Uncle 
John. 

"  But  you  ought  to  see  the  northern  working  people," 
said  Nina.  "  Why,  the  Governors  of  the  States  are  farmers, 
sometimes,  and  work  with  their  own  men.  The  brain  and  the 
hand  go  together,  in  each  one  —  not  one  great  brain  to  fifty 
pair  of  hands.  And,  I  tell  you,  work  is  done  up  there  very 
differently  from  what 's  done  here  !  Just  look  at  our  ploughs 
and  our  hoes !  —  the  most  ridiculous  things  that  I  ever  saw. 
I  should  think  one  of  them  would  weigh  ten  pounds  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  have  'em  heavy  enough  to  go  into 
the  ground  by  their  own  weight,  these  cussed  lazy  nigs 
won't  do  anything  with  them.  They  'd  break  a  dozen  Yan- 
kee hoes  in  a  forenoon,"  said  Uncle  John. 

"  Now,"  said  Nina,  "  Uncle  John,  you  dear  old  heathen, 
you  !  do  let  me  tell  you  a  little  how  it  is  there.  I  went  up 
into  New  Hampshire,  once,  with  Livy  Ray,  to  spend  a  vaca- 
tion.    Livy's  father  is  a  farmer  ;  works  part  of  every  day 


268  SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

with  his  own  men  ;  hoes,  digs,  plants  ;  but  he  is  Governor 
of  the  State.  He  has  a  splendid  farm  —  all  in  first-rate 
order  ;  and  his  sons,  with  two  or  three  hired  men,  keep  it  in 
better  condition  than  our  places  ever  saw.  Mr.  Ray  is  a 
man  who  reads  a  great  deal ;  has  a  fine  library,  and  he  's  as 
much  of  a  gentleman  as  you  '11  often  see.  There  are  no 
high  and  low  classes  there.  Everybody  works  ;  and  every- 
body seems  to  have  a  good  time.  Livy's  mother  has  a 
beautiful  dairy,  spring  house,  and  two  strong  women  to 
help  her  ;  and  everything  in  the  house  looks  beautifully  ; 
and,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  the  house  seems  so 
neat  and  still,  you  would  n't  know  anything  had  been  done 
in  it.  Seems  to  me  this  is  better  than  making  slaves  of 
all  the  working  classes,  or  having  any  working  classes 
at  all." 

"  How  wise  young  ladies  always  are  !  "  said  Uncle  John. 
"  Undoubtedly  the  millennium  is  begun  in  New  Hampshire  ! 
But,  pray,  my  dear,  what  part  do  young  ladies  take  in  all 
this  ?  Seems  to  me,  Nin,  you  have  n't  picked  up  much  of 
this  improvement  in  person." 

"  0,  as  to  that,  I  labor  in  my  vocation,"  said  Nina  ;  "  that 
is,  of  enlightening  dull,  sleepy  old  gentlemen,  who  never 
travelled  out  of  the  state  they  were  born  in,  and  don't  know 
what  can  be  done.  I  come  as  a  missionary  to  them ;  I  'm 
sure  that 's  work  enough  for  one." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  I  know  I  am  as  great  a 
slave  as  any  of  the  poor  whites,  or  negroes  either.  There 
is  n't  a  soul  in  my  whole  troop  that  pretends  to  take  any 
care,  except  me,  either  about  themselves  or  their  children, 
or  anything  else." 

"  I  hope  that  is  n't  a  slant  at  me !  "  said  Uncle  John, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  I  must  say  you  are  as  bad  as  any  of  them,"  said  Aunt 
Maria. 

"  There  it  goes  !  —  now  I  'm  getting  it !  "  said  Uncle 
John.  "  I  declare,  the  next  time  we  get  a  preacher  out  here, 
I  'm  going  to  make  him  hold  forth  on  the  duties  of  wives  !  " 


SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA.  269 

"  And  husbands,  too  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Do/'  said  Nina  ;  "  I  should  like  a  little  prospective  in- 
formation." 

Nina,  as  often,  spoke  before  she  thought.  Uncle  John 
gave  a  malicious  look  at  Clayton.  Nina  could  not  recall 
the  words.  She  colored  deeply,  and  went  on  hastily  to 
change  the  subject. 

"  At  any  rate,  I  know  that  aunt,  here,  has  a  much  harder 
time  than  housekeepers  do  in  the  free  states.  Just  the 
shoes  she  wears  out  chasing  up  her  negroes  would  hire  help 
enough  to  do  all  her  work.  They  used  to  have  an  idea,  up 
there,  that  all  the  southern  ladies  did  was  to  lie  on  the  sofa. 
I  used  to  tell  them  it  was  as  much  as  they  knew  about  it." 

"  Your  cares  don't  seem  to  have  worn  you  much  ! ;'  said 
Uncle  John. 

"  Well,  they  will,  Uncle  John,  if  you  don't  behave  better. 
It's  enough  to  break  anybody  down  to  keep  you  in  order." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Uncle  John,  shrugging  up  his  shoulders, 
and  looking  quizzically  at  Clayton,  "  somebody  would  take 
warning  !  " 

"For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "I  know  one  thing; 
I  'd  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  my  negroes.  Sometimes  I  think 
life  is  such  a  burden  that  I  don't  think  it 's  worth  having." 

"  0,  no,  you  don't,  mother  !  "  said  Uncle  John  ;  "  not  with 
such  a  charming  husband  as  you  've  got,  who  relieves  you 
from  all  care  so  perfectly !  " 

"  I  declare,"  said  Nina,  looking  along  the  avenue, 
"  what 's  that  ?  Why,  if  there  is  n't  old  Tiff,  coming  along 
with  his  children  !  " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  said  Aunt  Maria. 

"0,  he  belongs  to  one  of  these  miserable  families,"  said 
Aunt  Nesbit,  "that  have  squatted  in  the  pine-woods  some- 
where about  here  —  a  poor,  worthless  set !  but  Nina  has  a 
great  idea  of  patronizing  them." 

"  Clear  Gordon,  every  inch  of  her  !  "  said  Aunt  Maria,  as 
Nina  ran  down  to  meet  Tiff.     "  Just  like  her  uncle  !  " 

"  Come,  now,  old  lady,  I  '11  tell  of  you,  if  you  don't  take 
23* 


270  SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

care  !  "  said  Mr.  Gordon.  "  Did  n't  I  find  you  putting  up  a 
basket  of  provisions  for  those  folks  you  scolded  me  so  for 
taking  in  ?  " 

"  Scold,  Mr.  Gordon  ?     I  never  scold  !  " 

"  I  beg  pardon  —  that  you  reproved  me  for  !  " 

Ladies  generally  are  not  displeased  for  being  reproached 
for  their  charities  ;  and  Aunt  Maria,  whose  bark,  to  use  a 
vulgar  proverb,  was  infinitely  worse  than  her  bite,  sat  fan- 
ning herself,  with  an  air  of  self-complacency.  Meanwhile, 
Nina  had  run  down  the  avenue,  and  was  busy  in  a  confiden- 
tial communication  with  Tiff.  On  her  return,  she  came  skip- 
ping up  the  steps,  apparently  in  high  glee. 

"0,  Uncle  John!  there's  the  greatest  fun  getting  up  ! 
You  must  all  go,  certainly  !  What  do  you  think  ?  Tiff 
says  there  's  to  be  a  camp-meeting  in  the  neighborhood, 
only  about  five  miles  off  from  his  place.  Let 's  make  up  a 
party,  and  all  go  !  " 

"  That 's  the  time  of  day  !  "  said  Uncle  John.  "  I  enrol 
myself  under  your  banner,  at  once.  I  am  open  to  improve- 
ment !     Anybody  wants  to  convert  me,  here  I  am  !  " 

"  The  trouble  with  you,  Uncle  John,"  said  Nina,  "is  that 
you  don't  stay  converted.  You  are  just  like  one  of  these 
heavy  fishes  —  you  bite  very  sharp,  but,  before  anybody  can 
get  you  fairly  on  to  the  bank,  you  are  flapping  and  flounder- 
ing back  into  the  water,  and  down  you  go  into  your  sins 
again.  I  know  at  least  three  ministers  who  thought  they 
had  hooked  you  out ;  but  they  were  mistaken." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  "  I  think  these  camp- 
meetings  do  more  harm  than  good.  They  collect  all  the 
scum  and  the  riff-raff  of  the  community,  and  I  believe 
there  's  more  drinking  done  at  camp-meetings  in  one  week 
than  is  clone  in  six  anywhere  else.  Then,  of  course,  all  the 
hands  will  want  to  be  off ;  and  Mr.  Gordon  has  brought 
them  up  so  that  they  feel  dreadfully  abused  if  they  are  not 
in  with  everything  that's  going  on.  I  shall  set  down  my 
foot,  this  year,  that  they  shan't  go  any  day  except  Sunday." 

"  My  wife  knows  that  she  was  always  celebrated  for  hav- 


SUMMER  TALK  AT  CAXEMA.  271 

ing  the  handsomest  foot  in  the  county,  and  so  she  is  always 
setting  it  down  at  me !  "  said  Mr.  Gordon  ;  "  for  she  knows 
that  a  pretty  foot  is  irresistible  with  me." 

"  Mr.  Gordon,  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  I  should  think  that 
you  'd  got  old  enough  not  to  make  such  silly  speeches  !  " 
said  Aunt  Maria. 

"  Silly  speeches  !  It 's  a  solemn  fact,  and  you  won't  hear 
anything  truer  at  the  camp-meeting  !  "  said  Uncle  John. 
"  But  come,  Clayton,  will  you  go  ?  My  dear  fellow,  your 
grave  face  will  be  an  appropriate  ornament  to  the  scene,  I 
can  assure  you  ;  and,  as  to  Miss  Anne,  it  won't  do  for  an  old 
fellow  like  me,  in  this  presence,  to  say  what  a  happiness  it 
would  be." 

"I  suspect,"  said  Anne,  "Edward  is  afraid  he  may  be 
called  on  for  some  of  the  services.  People  are  always  tak- 
ing him  for  a  clergyman,  and  asking  him  to  say  grace  at 
meals,  and  to  conduct  family  prayers,  when  he  is  travelling 
among  strangers." 

"It's  a  comment  on  our  religion,  that  these  should  be 
though  peculiar  offices  of  clergymen,"  said  Clayton. 
"  Every  Christian  man  ought  to  be  ready  and  willing  to  take 
them." 

"  I  honor  that  sentiment!  "  said  Uncle  John.  "A  man 
ought  not  to  be  ashamed  of  his  religion  anywhere,  no  more 
than  a  soldier  of  his  colors.  I  believe  there  's  more  religion 
hid  in  the  hearts  of  honest  laymen,  now,  than  is  plastered  up 
behind  the  white  cravats  of  clergymen  ;  and  they  ought  to 
come  out  with  it.  Not  that  I  have  any  disrespect  for  the 
clergy,  either,"  said  Uncle  John.  "Fine  men  —  a  little 
stiffish,  and  don't  call  things  by  good  English  names.  Al- 
ways talking  about  dispensation,  and  sanctification,  and 
edification,  and  so  forth  ;  but  I  like  them.  They  are  sin- 
cere. I  suppose  they  would  n't  any  of  them  give  me  a 
chance  for  heaven,  because  I  rip  out  with  an  oath,  every  now 
and  then.  But,  the  fact  is,  what  with  niggers,  and  overseers, 
and  white  trash,  my  chances  of  salvation  are  dreadfully 
limited.     I  can't  help  swearing,  now  and  then,  if  I  was  to 


272  SUMMER  TALK  AT  CANEMA. 

die  for  it.  They  say  it 's  dreadfully  wicked  ;  but  I  feel  more 
Christian  when  I  let  out  than  when  I  keep  in  ! " 

"Mr.  Gordon/'  said  Aunt  Maria,  reprovingly,  "do  con- 
sider what  you  're  saying  !  " 

"My  dear,  I  am  considering.  I  am  considering  all  the 
time  !  I  never  do  anything  else  but  consider  —  except,  as 
I  said  before,  every  now  and  then,  when  what-'s-his-name 
gets  the  advantage  over  me.  And,  hark  you,  Mrs.  G.,  let 's 
have  things  ready  at  our  house,  if  any  of  the  clergy  would 
like  to  spend  a  week  or  so  with  us  ;  and  we  could  get  them 
up  some  meetings,  or  any  little  thing  in  their  line.  I  always 
like  to  show  respect  for  them." 

"Our  beds  are  always  prepared  for  company,  Mr.  Gor- 
don," said  Aunt  Maria,  with  a  stately  air. 

"  0,  yes,  yes,  I  don't  doubt  that !  I  only  meant  some 
special  preparation  —  some  little  fatted-calf  killing,  and  so 
on." 

"Now,"  said  Nina,  "shall  we  set  off  to-morrow  morn- 


ing 


?  » 


"  Agreed  !  "  said  Uncle  John, 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

tiff's  preparations. 

The  announcement  of  the  expected  camp-meeting-  pro- 
duced a  vast  sensation  at  Canema,  in  other  circles  beside 
the  hall.  In  the  servants'  department,  everybody  was  full 
of  the  matter,  from  Aunt  Katy  down  to  Tomtit.  The 
women  were  thinking  over  their  available  finery  ;  for  these 
gatherings  furnish  the  negroes  with  the  same  opportu- 
nity of  display  that  Grace  Church  does  to  the  Broadway 
belles.  And  so,  before  Old  Tiff,  who  had  brought  the  first 
intelligence  to  the  plantation,  had  time  to  depart,  Tomtit 
had  trumpeted  the  news  through  all  the  cluster  of  negro- 
houses  that  skirted  the  right  side  of  the  mansion,  proclaim- 
ing that  "  dere  was  gwine  to  be  a  camp-meeting,  and  tip-top 
work  of  grace,  and  Miss  Nina  was  going  to  let  all  de  nig- 
gers go."  Old  Tiff,  therefore,  found  himself  in  a  prominent 
position  in  a  group  of  negro-women,  among  whom  Rose, 
the  cook,  was  conspicuous. 

"  Law,  Tiff,  ye  gwine  ?  and  gwine  to  take  your  chil'en  ? 
ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  said  she.  "  Why,  Miss  Fanny,  dey  '11  tink 
Tiff's  yer  mammy  !     Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 

"Yah!  yah!  Ho!  ho!  ho!"  roared  in  a  chorus  of 
laughter  on  all  sides,  doing  honor  to  Aunt  Rosy's  wit ;  and 
Tomtit,  who  hung  upon  the  skirts  of  the  crowd,  threw  up 
the  fragment  of  a  hat  in  the  air,  and  kicked  it  in  an  abandon 
of  joy,  regardless  of  the  neglected  dinner-knives.  Old  Tiff, 
mindful  of  dignities,  never  failed  to  propitiate  Rose,  on  his 
advents  to  the  plantation,  with  the  gift  which  the  "wise 
man  saith  maketh  friends;"  and,  on  the  present  occasion,  he 


274  tiff's  preparations. 

had  enriched  her  own  peculiar  stock  of  domestic  fowl  by 
the  present  of  a  pair  of  young  partridge-chicks,  a  nest  of 
which  he  had  just  captured,  intending  to  bring  them  up  by 
hand,  as  he  did  his  children.  By  this  discreet  course,  Tiff 
stood  high  where  it  was  of  most  vital  consequence  that  he 
should  so  stand  ;  and  many  a  choice  morsel  did  Rose  cook 
for  him  in  secret,  besides  imparting  to  him  most  invaluable 
recipes  on  the  culture  and  raising  of  sucking  babies.  Old 
Hundred,  like  many  other  persons,  felt  that  general  attention 
lavished  on  any  other  celebrity  was  so  much  taken  from 
his  own  merits,  and,  therefore,  on  the  present  occasion,  sat 
regarding  Tiff's  evident  popularity  with  a  cynical  eye.  At 
last,  coming  up,  like  a  wicked  fellow  as  he  was,  he  launched 
his  javelin  at  Old  Tiff,  by  observing  to  his  wife, 

"  I  's  'stonished  at  you,  Rose  !  You,  cook  to  de  Gor- 
dons, and  making  youself  so  cheap  —  so  familiar  with  de 
poor  white  folks'  niggers  !  " 

Had  the  slant  fallen  upon  himself,  personally,  Old  Tiff 
would  probably  have  given  a  jolly  crow,  and  laughed  as 
heartily  as  he  generally  did  if  he  happened  to  be  caught  out 
in  a  rain-storm  ;  but  the  reflection  on  his  family  connection 
fired  him  up  like  a  torch,  and  his  eyes  flashed  through  his 
big  spectacles  like  fire-light  through  windows. 

'-'  You  go  'long,  talking  'bout  what  you  don'  know  nothing 
'bout !  I  like  to  know  what  you  knows  'bout  de  old  Virgin- 
ny  fam'lies  ?  Dem  's  de  real  old  stock  !  You  Car'lina  folks 
come  from  dem,  stick  and  stock,  every  blest  one  of  you  ! 
De  Gordons  is  a  nice  family  —  an't  nothing  to  say  agin  de 
Gordons  —  but  whar  was  you  raised,  dat  ye  did  n't  hear 
'bout  de  Peytons  ?  Why,  old  Gen'al  Pe}rton,  didn't  he 
use  to  ride  with  six  black  horses  afore  him,  as  if  he  'd  been 
a  king  ?  Dere  wan't  one  of  dem  horses  dat  had  n't  a  tail 
as  long  as  my  arm.  You  never  see  no  such  critters  in  your 
life  !  " 

"  I  han't,  han't  I  ?  "  said  Old  Hundred,  now,  in  his  turn, 
touched  in  a  vital  point.  "  Bless  me,  if  I  han't  seen  de  Gor- 
dons riding  out  with  der  eight  horses,  any  time  o'  day  !  " 


tiff's  preparations.  275 

"  Come,  come,  now,  dere  was  n't  so  many  !  "  said  Rose, 
who  had  her  own  reasons  for  staying-  on  Tiff's  side.  "  No- 
body never  rode  with  eight  horses  !  " 

"  Did  too  !  You  say  much  more,  I  '11  make  si?-:teen  on 
'em  !  'Fore  my  blessed  master,  how  dese  yer  old  niggers 
will  lie  !  Dey  's  always  zaggerating  der  families.  Makes 
de  very  liar  rise  on  my  head,  to  hear  dese  }rer  old  niggers 
talk,  dey  lie  so  !  "  said  Old  Hundred. 

"  You  tink  folks  dat  take  to  lying  is  using  up  your  busi- 
ness, don't  ye  ?  "  said  Tiff.  "  But,  I  tell  you,  any  one  dat 
says  a  word  agin  de  Peytons  got  me  to  set  in  with  !  " 

"Laws,  dem  chil'en  an't  Peytons  !  "  said  Old  Hundred; 
"  dey  's  Crippses  ;  and  I  like  to  know  who  ever  hearn  of  de 
Crippses  ?  Go  way !  don't  tell  me  nothing  about  dem 
Crippses  !  Dey  ;s  poor  white  folks  !  A  body  may  see  dat 
sticking  out  all  over  'em  !  " 

"  You  shut  up  !  "  said  Tiff.  "  I  don't  b'lieve  you  was 
born  on  de  Gordon  place,  'cause  you  an't  got  no  manners. 
I  spects  you  some  old,  second-hand  nigger,  Colonel  Gordon 
must  a  took  for  debt,  some  time,  from  some  of  dese  yer  mean 
Tennessee  families,  dat  don'  know  how  to  keep  der  money 
when  dey  gets  it.  Der  niggers  is  allers  de  meanest  kind. 
'Cause  all  de  real  Gordon  niggers  is  ladies  and  gen'lemen  — 
every  one  of  'em  !  "  said  Old  Tiff,  like  a  true  orator,  bent 
on  carrying,  his  audience  along  with  him. 

A  general  shout  chorused  this  compliment  ;  and  Tiff, 
under  cover  of  the  applause,  shook  up  his  reins,  and  rode 
off  in  triumph. 

"  Dar,  now,  you  aggravating  old  nigger,"  said  Rose, 
turning  to  her  bosom  lord,  "  I  hope  yer  got  it  now  !  De 
plaguest  old  nigger  dat  ever  I  see  !  And  you,  Tom,  go 
'long  and  clean  your  knives,  if  yer  don't  mean  to  be  cracked 
over !  " 

Meanwhile  Tiff,  restored  to  his  usual  tranquillity,  ambled 
along  homeward  behind  his  one-eyed  horse,  singing  "I'm 
bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan,"  with  some  surprising  varia- 
tions. 


276  tiff's  preparations. 

At  last  Miss  Fanny,  as  he  constantly  called  her,  inter- 
posed with  a  very  pregnant  question. 

"  Uncle  Tiff,  where  is  the  land  of  Canaan  ?  " 

"  De  Lord-a-mercy,  chile,  dat  ar  's  what  I  ;d  like  to  know, 
myself." 

"  Is  it  heaven  ?  "  said  Fanny. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  so,"  said  Tiff,  dubiously. 

"  Is  it  where  ma  is  gone  ?  "  said  Fanny. 

"  Chile,  I  reckon  it  is,"  said  Tiff. 

"  Is  it  down  under  ground  ?  "  said  Fanny. 

"  Why,  no  !  ho  !  ho  !  honey  !  "  said  Tiff,  laughing  heart- 
ily.    "  What  put  dat  ar  in  your  head,  Miss  Fanny  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  ma  go  that  way  ?  "  said  Fanny  ;  "  down  through 
the  ground  ?  " 

"  Lordy,  no,  chile  !  Heaven  's  up  !  "  said  Tiff,  pointing 
up  to  the  intense  blue  sky  which  appeared  through  the 
fringy  hollows  of  the  pine-trees  above  them. 

"  Is  there  any  stairs  anywhere  1  or  any  ladder  to  get  up 
by  ?  "  said  Fanny.  "  Or  do  they  walk  to  where  the  sky 
touches  the  ground,  and  get  up  ?  Perhaps  they  climb  up 
on  the  rainbow." 

"1  don'  know,  chile,  how  dey  works  it,"  said  Uncle 
Tiff.  "Dey  gets  dar  somehow.  I 's  studdin'  upon  dat 
ar.  I 's  gwine  to  camp-meeting  to  find  out.  I 's  been  to 
plenty  of  clem  ar,  and  I  never  could  quite  see  clar.  'Pears 
like  dey  talks  about  everything  else  more  'n  dey  does  about 
dat.  Dere  's  de  Methodists,  dey  cuts  up  de  Presbyter' ans  ; 
and  de  Presbyter'ans  pitches  into  de  Methodists  ;  and  den 
both  on  'em  ;s  down  on  de  'Piscopals.  My  ole  mist'  was 
'Piscopal,  and  I  never  seed  no  harm  in  't.  And  de  Baptists 
think  dey  an't  none  on  'em  right ;  and,  while  dey  's  all  a 
blowing  out  at  each  other,  dat  ar  way,  I  's  a  wondering 
whar  's  de  way  to  Canaan.  It  takes  a  mighty  heap  o'  laming 
to  know  about  dese  yer  things,  and  I  an't  got  no  laming. 
I  don'  know  nothing,  only  de  Lord,  he  'peared  to  your  ma, 
and  he  knows  de  way,  and  he  took  her.  But,  now,  chile, 
I 's  gwine  to  fix  you  up  right  smart,  and  take  you,  Teddy, 


tiff's  preparations.  •  277 

and  de  baby,  to  dis  yer  carnp-meeting,  so  you  can  seek  de 
Lord  in  yer  youth." 

"  Tiff,  if  you  please,  I  'd  rather  not  go  !  "  said  Fanny,  in 
an  apprehensive  tone. 

"0,  bresa  de  Lord,  Miss  Fanny,  why  not?  Fust-rate 
times  dere." 

"There'll  be  too  many  people.  I  don't  want  them  to 
see  us." 

The  fact  was,  that  Rose's  slant  speech  about  Tiff's  ma- 
ternal relationship,  united  with  the  sneers  of  Old  Hundred, 
had  their  effect  upon  Fanny's  mind.  Naturally  proud,  and 
fearful  of  ridicule,  she  shrank  from  the  public  display  which 
would  thus  be  made  of  their  family  condition  ;  yet  she 
would  not  for  the  world  have  betrayed  to  her  kind  old 
friend  the  real  reason  of  her  hesitation.  But  Old  Tiff's 
keen  eye  had  noticed  the  expression  of  the  child's  counte- 
nance at  the  time.  If  anybody  supposes  that  the  faithful 
old  creature's  heart  was  at  all  wounded  by  the  perception, 
they  ai-e  greatly  mistaken. 

To  Tiff  it  appeared  a  joke  of  the  very  richest  quality ; 
and,  as  he  rode  along  in  silence  for  some  time,  he  indulged 
himself  in  one  of  his  quiet,  long  laughs,  actually  shaking 
his  old  sides  till  the  tears  streamed  down  his  cheeks. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Tiff?  "  said  Fanny. 

"  0,  Miss  Fanny,  Tiff  knows  !  — Tiff  knows  de  reason  ye 
don't  want  to  go  to  camp-meeting.  Tiff's  seen  it  in  yer 
face  —  ye  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  Miss  Fanny,  is  you  'fraid  dey  ;11 
take  Old  Tiff  for  yer  mammy  ?  —  ye  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  —  for  yer 
mammy  ?  —  and  Teddy's,  and  de  baby's  ?  —  bless  his  little 
soul!"  And  the  amphibious  old  creature  rollicked  over 
the  idea  with  infinite  merriment.  "  Don't  I  look  like  it, 
Miss  Fanny  ?  Lord,  ye  por  dear  lamb,  can't  folks  see  ye  's 
a  born  lady,  with  yer  white,  little  hands  ?  Don't  ye  be 
'feared,  Miss  Fanny  !  " 

"I  know  it's  silly,"  said  Fanny;  "but,  beside,  I  don't 
like  to  be  called  poo?"  white  folksy ! " 

"0,  chile,  it's  only  dem  mean  niggers!  Miss  Nina's 
24 


273  tiff's  preparations. 

allers  good  to  ye,  an't  she  ?  Speaks  to  ye  so  handsome  ! 
Ye  must  memorize  dat  ar,  Miss  Fanny,  and  talk  like  Miss 
Nina.  I  's  'feard,  now  yer  ma 's  dead,  ye  '11  fall  into  some 
o'  rny  nigger  ways  of  talking.  'Member  you  mustn't 
talk  like  Old  Tiff,  'cause  young  ladies  and  gen'lemen 
mustn't  .talk  like  niggers.  Now,  I  says  '  dis  and  dat,  dis 
yer  and  dat  ar.'  Dat  ar  is  nigger  talk,  and  por  white 
folksy,  too.  Only  de  por  white  folks,  dey  's  mis'able,  'cause 
niggers  knows  what 's  good  talk,  but  dey  does  n't.  Lord, 
chile,  Old  Tiff  knows  what  good  talk  is.  An't  he  heard  de 
greatest  ladies  and  gen'lemen  in  de  land  talk  ?  But  he 
don't  want  de  trouble  to  talk  dat  ar  way,  'cause  he  's  a 
nigger  !  Tiff  likes  his  own  talk  —  it 's  good  enough  for 
Tiff.  Tiff's  talk  sarves  him  mighty  well,  I  tell  yer.  But, 
den,  white  children  must  n't  talk  so.  Now,  you  see,  Miss 
Nina  has  got  de  prettiest  way  of  saying  her  words.  Dey 
drops  out  one  after  another,  one  after  another,  so  pretty  ! 
Now,  you  mind,  'cause  she's  coming  to  see  us  off  and  on  — 
she  promised  so.  And  den  you  keep  a  good  lookout  how 
she  walks,  and  how  she  holds  her  pocket-handkerchief.  And 
when  she  sits  down  she  kind  o'  gives  a  little  flirt  to  her 
clothes,  so  dey  all  set  out  round  her  like  ruffles.  Dese  yer 
little  ways  ladies  have  !  Why,  dese  yer  por  white  folks, 
did  yer  ever  mind  der  settin'  down  ?  Why,  dey  jist  slaps 
down  into  a  chair  like  a  spoonful  o'  mush,  and  der  clothes 
all  stick  tight  about  'em.  I  don't  want  nothing  poor  ivhite 
folksy  'bout  you.  Den,  if  you  don't  understand  what  peo- 
ple 's  a  saying  to  you,  any  time,  you  mustn't  star,  like  por 
white  chil'en,  and  say,  'what?'  but  you  must  say  'I  beg 
pardon,  sir,'  or,  'I  beg  pardon,  ma'am.'  Dat  ar 's  de  way. 
And,  Miss  Fanny,  you  and  Teddy,  you  must  study  yer 
book  ;  'cause,  if  you  can't  read,  den  dey '11  be  sure  to  say 
yer  por  white  folks.  And,  den,  Miss  Fanny,  you  see  dat 
ladies  don't  demean  demselves  with  sweeping  and  scrub- 
bing, and  dem  tings  ;  and  yet  dey  does  work,  honey  !  Dey 
sews,  and  dey  knits  ;  and  it  would  be  good  for  you  to  larn 
how  to  sew  and  knit ;  'cause,  you  know,  I  can't  allers  make 


TIFF'S    PREPARATIONS.  279 

up  all  de  clothes  ;  'cause,  you  see,  young  ladies  haves  ways 
Avid  'em  dat  niggers  can't  get.  Now,  you  see,  Miss  Fanny, 
all  dese  yer  tings  I  was  telling  you,  you  must  'bserve. 
Now,  you  see,  if  you  was  one  of  dese  yer  por  white  folks, 
dere  Le  no  use  of  your  trying  ;  'cause  dat  ar  'scription  o' 
people  couldn't  never  be  ladies,  if  dey  was  waring  them- 
selves out  a  trying.  But,  you  see,  you's  got  it  in  you  :  you 
was  born  to  it,  honey.  It 's  in  de  blood  ;  and  what 's  in  de 
blood  must  come  out  —  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  And,  with  this  final 
laugh,  Tiff  drew  up  to  his  dwelling. 

A  busy  day  was  before  Old  Tiff ;  for  he  was  to  set 
his  house  in  order  for  a  week's  campaign.  There  was  his 
corn  to  be  hoed,  his  parsley  to  be  weeded,  there  was  his 
orphan  family  of  young  partridges  to  be  cared  for.  And 
Tiff,  after  some  considerable  consideration,  resolved  to  take 
them  along  with  him  in  a  basket ;  thinking,  in  the  intervals 
of  devotion,  he  should  have  an  abundant  opportunity  to 
minister  to  their  wants,  and  superintend  their  education. 
Then  he  went  to  one  of  his  favorite  springes,  and  brought 
from  thence,  not  a  fatted  calf,  to  be  sure,  but  a  fatted  coon, 
which  he  intended  to  take  with  him,  to  serve  as  the  basis 
of  a  savory  stew  on  the  camp-ground.  Tiff  had  a  thriving 
company  of  pot-herbs,  and  a  flourishing  young  colony  of 
onions  ;  so  that,  whatever  might  be  true  of  the  sermons,  it 
was  evident  that  the  stew  would  lack  no  savor.  Teddy's 
clothes,  also,  were  to  be  passed  in  review ;  washing  and 
ironing  to  be  done  ;  the  baby  fitted  up  to  do  honor  to  his 
name,  or  rather  to  the  name  of  his  grandfather.  With  all 
these  cares  upon  his  mind,  the  old  creature  was  even  more 
than  usually  alert.  The  day  was  warm,  and  he  resolved, 
therefore,  to  perform  his  washing  operations  in  the  magnif- 
icent kitchen  of  nature.  He  accordingly  kindled  a  splendid 
bonfire,  which  was  soon  crackling  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  house,  slung  over  it  his  kettle,  and  proceeded  to  some 
other  necessary  avocations.  The  pine-wood,  which  had 
been  imperfectly  seasoned,  served  him  the  ungracious  trick 
that  pine-wood  is  aDt  to  do :  it  crackled  and  roared  merrily 


280  tiff's  preparations. 

while  he  was  present,  but  while  he  was  down  examining 
his  traps  in  the  woods  went  entirely  out,  leaving  only  the 
blackened  sticks. 

"  Uncle  Tiff,"  said  Teddy,  "  the  fh*e  is  all  gone  out !  " 
"  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  — Has  it  ?  "  said  Tiff,  coming  up.  "  Cu- 
rus  enough  !  Well,  bress  de  Lord,  got  all  de  wood  left,  any 
way  ;  had  a  real  bright  fire,  beside,"  said  Tiff,  intent  on 
upholding  the  sunniest  side  of  things.  "  Lord,  it's  de  sun 
dat  puts  de  fire  out  o'  countenance.  Did  you  ever  see  fire 
dat  would  n't  go  out  when  de  sun  's  shining  right  in  its 
face  ?  Dat  ar  is  a  curus  fact.  I 's  minded  it  heaps  o'  times. 
Well,  I  '11  jist  have  to  come  out  wid  my  light-wood  kindlings, 
dat 's  all.  Bress  de  Lord,  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  said  Tiff,  laugh- 
ing to  himself,  "  if  dese  yer  an't  the  very  sp'rit  of  de  camp- 
meeting  professors  !  Dey  blazes  away  at  de  camp-meeting, 
and  den  dey 's  black  all  de  year  round  !  See  'em  at  de 
camp-meetings,  you  'd  say  dey  war  gwine  right  into  de 
kingdom,  sure  enough  !  Well,  Lord  have  marcy  on  us  all ! 
Our  'ligion's  drefful  poor  stuff!  We  don'  know  but  a 
despert  leetle,  and  what  we  does  know  we  don'  do.  De 
good  Mas'r  above  must  have  his  hands  full,  with  us  1 " 


CHAPTER     XXII. 

THE   WOESHIPPEES. 

The  camp-meeting  is  one  leading  feature  in  the  American 
development  of  religion,  peculiarly  suited  to  the  wide  extent 
of  country,  and  to  the  primitive  habits  which  generally  ac- 
company a  sparse  population.  Undoubtedly  its  general 
effects  have  been  salutary.  Its  evils  have  been  only  those 
incident  to  any  large  gatherings,  in  which  the  whole  popu- 
lation of  a  country  are  brought  promiscuously  together. 
As  in  many  other  large  assemblies  of  worship,  there  are 
those  who  go  for  all  sorts  of  reasons  ;  some  from  curiosity, 
some  from  love  of  excitement,  some  to  turn  a  penny  in  a 
small  way  of  trade,  some  to  scoff,  and  a  few  to  pray.  And, 
so  long  as  the  heavenly  way  remains  straight  and  narrow, 
so  long  the  sincere  and  humble  worshippers  will  ever  be 
the  minority  in  all  assemblies.  We  can  give  no  better  idea 
of  the  difference  of  motive  which  impelled  the  various  wor- 
shippers, than  by  taking  our  readers  from  scene  to  scene,  on 
the  morning  when  different  attendants  of  the  meeting  were 
making  preparations  to  start. 

Between  the  grounds  of  Mr.  John  Gordon  and  the  planta- 
tion of  Canema  stood  a  log  cabin,  which  was  the  trading 
establishment  of  Abijah  Skinflint.  The  establishment  was 
a  nuisance  in  the  eyes  of  the  neighboring  planters,  from  the 
general  apprehension  entertained  that  Abijah  drove  a  brisk 
underhand  trade  with  the  negroes,  and  that  the  various  arti- 
cles which  he  disposed  for  sale  were  many  of  them  surrep- 
titiously conveyed  to  him  in  nightly  instalments  from  off 
their  own  plantations.  But  of  this  nothing  could  be  proved. 
24* 


282  THE   WORSHIPPERS. 

Abijah  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  long,  dry,  lean,  leathery, 
with  a  sharp  nose,  sharp,  little  gray  eyes,  a  sharp  chin,  and 
fingers  as  long  as  bird's-claws.  His  skin  was  so  dry  that 
one  would  have  expected  that  his  cheeks  would  crackle 
whenever  he  smiled,  or  spoke  ;  and  he  rolled  in  them  a 
never-failing  quid  of  tobacco. 

Abijah  was  one  of  those  over-shrewd  Yankees,  who  leave 
their  country  for  their  country's  good,  and  who  exhibit, 
wherever  they  settle,  such  a  caricature  of  the  thrifty  virtue 
of  their  native  land  as  to  justify  the  aversion  which  the 
native-born  Southerner  entertains  for  the  Yankee.  Abijah 
drank  his  own  whiskey, — prudently,  however,  —  or,  as  he 
said,  "never  so  as  not  to  know  what  he  was  about." 

He  had  taken  a  wife  from  the  daughters  of  the  land  ;  who 
also  drank  whiskey,  but  less  prudently  than  her  husband, 
so  that  sometimes  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  about. 
Sons  and  daughters  were  born  unto  this  promising  couple, 
white-headed,  forward,  dirty,  and  ill-mannered.  But,  amid 
all  domestic  and  social  trials,  Abijah  maintained  a  constant 
and  steady  devotion  to  the  main  chance  ■ —  the  acquisition 
of  money.  For  money  he  would  do  anything  ;  for  money 
he  would  have  sold  his  wife,  his  children,  even  his  own 
soul,  if  he  had  happened  to  have  one.  But  that  article, 
had  it  ever  existed,  was  now  so  small  and  dry,  that  one 
might  have  fancied  it  to  rattle  in  his  lean  frame  like  a  shriv- 
elled pea  in  a  last  j^ear's  peascod.  Abijah  was  going  to  the 
camp-meeting  for  two  reasons.  One,  of  course,  was  to  make 
money;  and  the  other  was  to  know  whether  his  favorite 
preacher,  Elder  Stringfellow,  handled  the  doctrine  of  elec- 
tion according  to  his  views  ;  for  Abijah  had  a  turn  for  theol- 
ogy, and  could  number  off  the  five  points  of  Calvinism  on 
his  five  long  fingers,  with  unfailing  accuracy. 

It  is  stated  in  the  Scriptures  that  the  devils  believe  and 
tremble.  The  principal  difference  between  their  belief  and 
Abijah's  was,  that  he  believed  and  did  not  tremble.  Truths 
awful  enough  to  have  shaken  the  earth,  and  veiled  the  sun, 


THE    WORSHIPPERS.  283 

he  could  finger  over  with  as  much  unconcern  as  a  practised 
anatomist  the  dry  bones  of  a  skeleton. 

"  You,  Sam  !  "  said  Abijah  to  his  only  negro  helot, 
"you  mind,  you  steady  that  ar  bar'l,  so  that  it  don't  roll 
out,  and  pour  a  pailful  of  water  in  at  the  bung.  It  won't 
do  to  give  it  to  'em  too  strong.  Miss  Skinflint,  you  make 
haste  !  If  you  don't,  I  shan't  wait  for  you  ;  'cause,  whatever 
the  rest  may  do,  it 's  important  I  should  be  on  the  ground 
early.  Many  a  dollar  lost  for  not  being  in  time,  in  this 
world.     Hurry,  woman  !  " 

"  I  am  ready,  but  Polly  an't  1  "  said  Mrs.  Skinflint. 
"  She  's  busy  a  plastering  down  her  hair." 

"  Can't  wait  for  her!  "  said  Abijah,  as  he  sallied  out  of 
the  house  to  get  into  the  wagon,  which  stood  before  the  door, 
into  which  he  had  packed  a  copious  supply  of  hams,  eggs, 
dressed  chickens,  corn-meal,  and  green  summer  vegetables, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  barrel  of  whiskey  aforesaid. 

"  I  say,  Dad,  you  stop  !  "  called  Polly,  from  the  window. 
"  If  you  don't,  I  '11  make  work  for  you  'fore  you  come  home  ; 
you  see  if  I  don't  !     Durned  if  I  won't  !  " 

"  Come  along,  then,  can't  you  ?  Next  time  we  go  any- 
where, I  '11  shut  you  up  over  night  to  begin  to  dress  !  " 

Polly  hastily  squeezed  her  fat  form  into  a  red  calico  dress, 
and,  seizing  a  gay  summer  shawl,  with  her  bonnet  in  her 
hand,  rushed  to  the  wagon  and  mounted,  the  hooks  of  her 
dress  successively  exploding,  and  flying  off,  as  she  stooped 
to  get  in. 

"  Durned  if  I  knows  what  to  do  !  "  said  she  ;  "  this  yer 
old  durned  gear  coat 's  all  off  my  back  !  " 

"  Gals  is  always  fools  ! "  said  Abijah,  consolingly. 

"  Stick  in  a  pin,  Polly,"  said  her  mother,  in  an  easy,  sing- 
song drawl. 

"  Durn  you,  old  woman,  every  hook  is  off!"  said  the 
promising  young  lady. 

"Stick  in  more  pins,  then,"  said  the  mamma;  and  the 
vehicle  of  Abijah  passed  onward 


2B4  THE   WORSHIPPERS. 

On  the  verge  of  the  swamp,  a  little  beyond  Tiff's  cabin, 
lived  Ben  Dakin. 

Ben  was  a  mighty  hunter  ;  he  had  the  best  pack  of  dogs 
within  thirty  miles  round  ;  and  his  advertisements,  still  to 
be  seen  standing  in  the  papers  of  his  native  state,  detailed 
with  great  accuracy  the  precise  terms  on  which  he  would 
hunt  down  and  capture  any  man,  woman,  or  child,  escap- 
ing from  service  and  labor  in  that  country.  Our  readers 
must  not  necessarily  suppose  Ben  to  have  been  a  monster 
for  all  this,  when  they  recollect  that,  within  a  few  years, 
both  the  great  political  parties  of  our  Union  solemnly 
pledged  themselves,  as  far  as  in  them  lay,  to  accept  a  sim- 
ilar vocation  ;  and,  as  many  of  them  were  in  good  and 
regular  standing  in  churches,  and  had  ministers  to  preach 
sermons  to  the  same  effect,  we  trust  they  '11  entertain  no 
unreasonable  prejudice  against  Ben  on  this  account. 

In  fact,  Ben  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  bluff,  hearty- 
looking  fellow,  who  would  do  a  kind  turn  for  a  neighbor 
with  as  much  good-will  as  anybody ;  and,  except  that  he 
now  and  then  took  a  little  too  much  whiskey,  as  he  him- 
self admitted,  he  considered  himself  quite  as  promising  a 
candidate  for  the  kingdom  as  any  of  the  company  who  were 
going  up  to  camp-meeting.  Had  any  one  ventured  to 
remonstrate  with  Ben  against  the  nature  of  his  profession, 
he  would  probably  have  defended  it  by  pretty  much  the 
same  arguments  by  which  modern  theologians  defend  the 
institution  of  which  it  is  a  branch. 

Ben  was  just  one  of  those  jovial  fellows  who  never  could 
bear  to  be  left  behind  in  anything  that  was  going  on  in  the 
community,  and  was  always  one  of  the  foremost  in  a  camp- 
meeting.  He  had  a  big,  loud  voice,  and  could  roll  out  the 
chorus  of  hymns  with  astonishing  effect.  He  was  generally 
converted  at  every  gathering  of  this  kind  ;  though,  through 
the  melancholy  proclivity  to  whiskey,  before  alluded  to,  he 
usually  fell  from  grace  before  the  year  was  out.  Like  many 
other  big  and  hearty  men,  he  had  a  little,  pale,  withered, 
moonshiny  wisp  of  a  wife,  who  hung  on  his  elbow  much 


THE   WORSHIPPERS.  285 

like  an  empty  work-bag ;  and  Ben,  to  do  him  justice,  was 
kind  to  the  wilted  little  mortal,  as  if  he  almost  suspected 
that  he  had  absorbed  her  vitality  into  his  own  exuberant 
growth.  She  was  greatly  given  to  eating  clay,  cleaning 
her  teeth  with  snuff,  and  singing  Methodist  hymns,  and  had 
a  very  sincere  concern  for  Ben's  salvation.  The  little 
woman  sat  resignedly  on  the  morning  we  speak  of,  while  a 
long-limbed,  broad-shouldered  child,  of  two  years,  with  bristly 
white  hair,  was  pulling  her  by  her  ears  and  hair,  and  other- 
wise maltreating  her,  to  make  her  get  up  to  give  him  a 
piece  of  bread  and  molasses  ;  and  she,  without  seeming  to 
attend  to  the  child,  was  giving  earnest  heed  to  her  hus- 
band. 

"There's  a  despit  press  of  business  now!"  said  Ben. 
"  There "'s  James's  niggers,  and  Smith's  Polly,  and  we  ought 
to  be  on  the  trail,  right  away  !  " 

"  0,  Ben,  you  ought  to  'tend  to  your  salvation  afore 
anything  else  !  "  said  his  wife. 

"  That 's  true  enough  ! ';  said  Ben  ;  "  meetings  don't  come 
every  clay." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do  with  dis  yer  'un  ?  "  pointing  to 
the  door  of  an  inner  room. 

"Dis  yer  'un  "  was  no  other  than  a  negro-woman,  named 
Nance,  who  had  been  brought  in  by  the  clogs,  the  day 
before. 

"  Laws  !  "  said  his  wife,  "  we  can  set  her  something  to 
eat,  and  leave  the  dogs  in  front  of  the  door.  She  can't  get 
out," 

Ben  threw  open  the  door,  and  displayed  to  view  a  low 
kind  of  hutch,  without  any  other  light  than  that  between 
the  crevices  of  the  logs.  On  the  floor,  which  was  of  hard- 
trodden  earth,  sat  a  sinewy,  lean  negro-woman,  drawing 
up  her  knees  with  her  long  arms,  and  resting  her  chin  upon 
them. 

"Hollo,  Nance,  how  are  you?"  said  Ben,  rather  cheer- 
ily. 

"  Por'ly,  mas'r,"  said  the  other,  in  a  sullen  tone. 


286  THE    WORSHIPPERS. 

"  Nance,  you  think  your  old  man  will  whale  you,  when 
he  gets  you  ?  "  said  Ben. 

"  I  reckons  he  will,"  said  Nance  ;  "  he  allers  does." 

"  Well,  Nance,  the  old  woman  and  I  want  to  go  to  a 
camp-meeting  ;  and  I  '11  just  tell  you  what  it  is,  —  you  stay 
here  quiet,  while  we  are  gone,  and  I  '11  make  the  old  fellow 
promise  not  to  wallop  you.  I  would  n't  mind  taking  off 
something  of  the  price  —  that 's  fair,  an't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  mas'r!"  said  the  woman,  in  the  same  subdued 
tone. 

"  Does  your  foot  hurt  you  much  ?  "  said  Ben. 

"  Yes,  mas'r  !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  Ben. 

The  woman  put  out  one  foot,  which  had  been  loosely 
bound  up  in  old  rags,  now  saturated  in  blood. 

"I  declar,  if  that  ar  dog  an't  a  pealer !  "  said  Ben. 
"  Nance,  you  ought  ter  have  stood  still ;  then  he  would  n't 
have  hurt  you  so." 

"  Lord,  he  hurt  me  so  I  could  n't  stand  still !  "  said  the 
woman.  "  It  an't  natur  to  stand  still  with  a  critter's  teeth 
in  yer  foot." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  it  is,"  said  Ben,  good-naturedly. 
"  Here,  Miss  Dakin,  you  bind  up  this  here  gal's  foot.  Stop 
your  noise,  sir-ee  !  "  he  added,  to  the  young  aspirant  for 
bread  and  molasses,  who,  having  despatched  one  piece,  was 
clamoring  vigorously  for  another. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what !  "  said  Ben,  to  his  wife,  "  I  am  going 
to  talk  to  that  ar  old  Elder  Settle.  I  runs  more  niggers  for 
him  than  any  man  in  the  county,  and  I  know  there  's  some 
reason  for  it.  Niggers  don't  run  into  swamps  when  they 's 
treated  well.  Folks  that  professes  religion,  I  think,  ought  n't 
to  starve  their  niggers,  no  way  !  " 

Soon  the  vehicle  of  Ben  was  also  on  the  road.  He  gath- 
ered up  the  reins  vigorously,  threw  back  his  head  to  get 
the  full  benefit  of  his  lungs,  and  commenced  a  vehement 
camp-meeting  melody,  to  the  tune  of 

"  Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  cross, 
A  follower  of  the  Lamb  ?  " 


THE   WORSHIPPERS.  287 

A  hymn,   by  the  by,  which  was  one   of   Ben's   particular 
favorites. 

We  come  next  to  Tiff's  cottage,  cf  which  the  inmates 
were  astir,  in  the  coolness  of  the  morning',  bright  and  early. 
Tiff's  wagon  was  a  singular  composite  article,  principally 
of  his  own  construction.  The  body  of  it  consisted  of  a 
long  packing-box.  The  wheels  were  all  odd  ones,  that 
had  been  brought  home  at  different  times  by  Cripps.  The 
shafts  were  hickory-poles,  thinned  at  one  end,  and  fastened 
to  the  wagon  by  nails.  Some  barrel-hoops  bent  over  the 
top,  covered  by  coarse  white  cotton  cloth,  formed  the  cur- 
tains, and  a  quantity  of  loose  straw  dispersed  inside  was 
the  only  seat.  The  lean,  one-eyed  horse  was  secured  to 
this  vehicle  by  a  harness  made  of  old  ropes  ;  but  no  million- 
naire,  however,  ever  enjoyed  his  luxuriantly-cushioned  coach 
with  half  the  relish  with  which  Tiff  enjoyed  his  equipage. 
It  was  the  work  of  his  hands,  the  darling  of  his  heart, 
the  delight  of  his  eyes.  To  be  sure,  like  other  mortal 
darlings,  it  was  to  be  admitted  that  it  had  its  weak  points 
and  failings.  The  wheels  would  now  and  then  come  off,  the 
shafts  get  loose,  or  the  harness  break  ;  but  Tiff  was  always 
prepared,  and,  on  occasion  of  any  such  mishaps,  would 
jump  out  and  attend  to  them  with  such  cheerful  alacrity, 
that,  if  anything,  he  rather  seemed  to  love  it  better  for  the 
accident.  There  it  stands  now,  before  the  enclosure  of  the 
little  cabin  ;  and  Tiff,  and  Fanny,  and  Teddy,  with  bustling 
assiduity,  are  packing  and  arranging  it.  The  gum-tree 
cradle-trough  took  precedence  of  all  other  articles.  Tiff, 
by  the  private  advice  of  Aunt  Eose,  had  just  added  to  this 
an  improvement,  which  placed  it,  in  his  view,  tip-top  among 
cradles.  He  had  nailed  to  one  end  of  it  a  long  splint  of 
elastic  hickory,  which  drooped  just  over  the  baby's  face. 
From  this  was  suspended  a  morsel  of  salt  pork,  which  this 
young  scion  of  a  noble  race  sucked  with  a  considerate  relish, 
while  his  large,  round  eyes  opened  and  shut  with  sleepy 
satisfaction.  This  arrangement  Eose  had  recommended,  in 
mysterious  tones,  as  all  powerful  in  making  sucking  babies 


288  THE    WORSHIPPERS. 

forget  their  mammies,  whom  otherwise  they  might  pine  for  in 
a  manner  prejudicial  to  their  health. 

Although  the  day  was  sultry,  Tiff  was  arrayed  in  his 
long-skirted  white  great-coat,  as  his  nether  garments  were 
in  too  dilapidated  a  state  to  consist  with  the  honor  of  the 
family.  His  white  felt  hat  still  bore  the  band  of  black 
crape. 

"It's  a  'mazin'  good  day,  bless  de  Lord!"  said  Tiff. 
"  Tears  like  dese  yer  birds  would  split  der  troats,  praising 
de  Lord  !  It's  a  mighty  good  zample  to  us,  any  way. 
You  see,  Miss  Fanny,  you  never  see  birds  put  out,  nor 
snarly  like,  rain  or  shine.  Dey  ;s  allers  a  praising  de  Lord. 
Lord,  it  seems  as  if  critters  is  better  dan  we  be  !  "  And, 
as  Tiff  spoke,  he  shouldered  into  the  wagon  a  mighty  bag 
of  corn  ;  but,  failing  in  what  he  meant  to  do,  the  bag  slid 
over  the  side,  and  tumbled  back  into  the  road.  Being 
somewhat  of  the  oldest,  the  fall  burst  it  asunder,  and  the 
corn  rolled  into  the  sand,  with  that  provoking  alacrity  which 
things  always  have  when  they  go  the  wrong  way.  Fanny 
and  Teddy  both  uttered  an  exclamation  of  lamentation  ;  but 
Tiff  held  on  to  his  sides  and  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  Why,  dat  ar  is  de  last 
bag  we  's  got,  and  dar  's  all  de  corn  a  running  out  in  de 
sand  !     Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !     Lord,  it 's  so  curus  !  ;; 

"  Why,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Fanny. 

"  0,  bress  you,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Tiff,  "  I 's  bound  to  do 
something,  any  how.  'Clare  for  it,  now,  if  I  han't  got  a 
box  !  "  And  Tiff  soon  returned  with  the  article  in  question, 
which  proved  too  large  for  the  wagon.  The  corn,  however, 
was  emptied  into  it  pro  tern.,  and  Tiff,  producing  his  darning- 
needle  and  thimble,  sat  down  seriously  to  the  task  of  stitch- 
ing up  the  hole. 

"  De  Lord's  things  an't  never  in  a  hurry,"  said  Tiff. 
"  Corn  and  'tatoes  will  have  der  time,  and  why  should  n't 
I  ?  Dar,"  he  said,  after  having  mended  the  bag  and  replaced 
the  corn,  "  dat  ar  's  better  now  nor  't  was  before." 


THE    WORSHIPPERS.  289 

Besides  his  own  store  of  provisions,  Tiff  prudently  laid 
into  his  wagon  enough  of  garden  stuff  to  turn  a  penny  for 
Miss  Fanny  and  the  children,  on  the  camp-ground.  His 
commissariat  department,  in  fact,  might  have  provoked  ap- 
petite, even  among  the  fastidious.  There  were  dressed 
chickens  and  rabbits,  the  coon  aforesaid,  bundles  of  savory 
herbs,  crisp,  dewy  lettuce,  bunches  of  onions,  radishes, 
and  green  peas. 

"Tell  ye  what,  chil'en,"  said  Tiff,  "we'll  live  like 
princes  !  And,  you  mind,  order  me  round  well.  Let  folks 
har  ye  ;  'cause  what 's  de  use  of  having  a  nigger,  and  no- 
body knowing  it  ? " 

And,  everything  being  arranged,  Tiff  got  in,  and  jogged 
comfortably  along.  At  the  turn  of  the  cross-road,  Tiff, 
looking  a  little  behind,  saw,  on  the  other  road,  the  Gordon 
carriage  coming,  driven  by  Old  Hundred,  arrayed  in  his 
very  best  ruffled  shirt,  white  gloves,  and  gold  hat-band. 

If  ever  Tift*  came  near  having  a  pang  in  his  heart,  it  was 
at  that  moment ;  but  he^Vetreated  stoutly  upon  the  idea  that, 
however  appearances  might  be  against  them,  his  family  was 
no  less  ancient  and  honorable  for  that ;  and,  therefore,  put- 
ting on  all  his  dignity,  he  gave  his  beast  an  extra  cut,  as 
who  should  say,  "  I  don't  care." 

But,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  horse,  at  this  instant, 
giving  a  jerk,  wrenched  out  the  nails  that  fastened  the  shaft 
on  one  side,  and  it  fell,  trailing  dishonored  on  the  ground. 
The  rope  harness  pulled  all  awry,  and  just  at  this  moment 
the  Gordon  carriage  swept  up. 

"  'Fore  I  'd  drive  sich  old  trash  ! "  said  Old  Hundred, 
scornfully  ;  "pulls  all  to  pieces  every  step  !  If  dat  ar  an't 
a  poor  white  folksy  'stablishment,  I  never  seed  one  !  " 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Nina,  putting  her  head  out. 
"  0,  Tiff"!  good-morning,  my  good  fellow.  Can  we  help 
you,  there  ?     John,  get  down  and  help  him." 

"  Please,  Miss  Nina,  de  hosses  is  so  full  o'  tickle,  dis  yer 
mornin',  I  could  n't  let  go,  no  ways  !  "  said  Old  Hundred. 

"  0,  laws  bless  you,  Miss  Nina,"  said  Tift",  restored  to  his 
25 


290  THE    WORSHIPPEKS. 

usual  spirits,  "  7t  an't  nothin'.  Broke  in  a  strordinary 
good  place  dis  yer  time.     I  ken  hammer  it  up  in  a  minute. " 

And  Tiff  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for  a  round  stone  and 
big  nail  made  all  straight. 

"Pray,"  said  Nina,  "how  are  little  Miss  Fanny,  and  the 
children  ?  " 

Miss  Fanny  !  If  Nina  had  heaped  Tiff  with  presents,  she 
could  not  have  conferred  the  inexpressible  obligation  con- 
veyed in  these  words.  He  bowed  low  to  the  ground,  with 
the  weight  of  satisfaction,  and  answered  that  "  Miss  Fanny 
and  the  chil'en  were  well." 

"There,"  said  Nina,  "John,  you  may  drive  on.  Do  you 
know,  friends,  I  ;ve  set  Tiff  up  for  six  weeks,  by  one  word  ? 
Just  saying  Miss  Fanny  has  done  more  for  him  than  if  I  'd 
sent  him  six  bushels  of  potatoes."  *  #  *  * 

We  have  yet  to  take  our  readers  to  one  more  scene 
before  we  finish  the  review  of  those  who  were  going  to  the 
camp-meeting.  The  reader  must  follow  us  far  beyond  the 
abodes  of  man,  into  the  recesses  t>f  that  wild  desolation 
known  as  the  "  Dismal  Swamp."  We  pass  over  vast  tracts 
where  the  forest  seems  growing  out  of  the  water.  Cypress, 
red  cedar,  sweet  gum,  tulip,  poplar,  beech,  and  holly, 
form  a  goodly  fellowship,  waving  their  rustling  boughs 
above.  The  trees  shoot  up  in  vast  columns,  fifty,  seventy- 
five,  and  a  hundred  feet  in  height ;  and  below  are  clusters 
of  evergreen  gall-bushes,  with  their  thick  and  glossy 
foliage,  mingled  in  with  swamp  honeysuckles,  grape-vines, 
twining  brier,  and  laurels,  and  other  shrubs,  forming  an 
impenetrable  thicket.  The  creeping  plants  sometimes  climb 
seventy  or  eighty  feet  up  the  largest  tree,  and  hang  in  heavy 
festoons  from  their  branches.  It  would  seem  impossible 
that  human  foot  could  penetrate  the  wild,  impervious  jungle  ; 
but  we  must  take  our  readers  through  it,  to  a  cleared  spot, 
where  trunks  of  fallen  trees,  long  decayed,  have  formed  an 
island  of  vegetable  mould,  which  the  art  of  some  human 
hand  has  extended  and  improved.  The  clearing  is  some 
sixty  yards  long  by  thirty  broad,  and  is  surrounded  with  a 


THE   W0B3HIPPEE8.  291 

natural  rampart,  which  might  well  bid  defiance  to  man  or 
beast.  Huge  trees  have  been  felled,  with  all  their  branches 
lyiug  thickly  one  over  another,  in  a  circuit  around ;  and 
nature,  seconding  the  efforts  of  the  fugitives  who  sought 
refuge  here,  has  interlaced  the  -frame-work  thus  made  with 
thorny  cat-briers,  cables  of  grape-vine,  and  thickets  of 
Virginia  creeper,  which,  running  wild  in  their  exuberance, 
climb  on  to  the  neighboring  trees,  and,  swinging  down, 
again  lose  themselves  in  the  mazes  from  which  they  spring, 
so  as  often  to  form  a  verdurous  wall  fifty  feet  in  height. 
In  some  places  the  laurel,  with  its  glossy  green  leaves,  and 
its  masses  of  pink-tipped  snowy  blossoms,  presents  to  the 
eye,  rank  above  rank,  a  wilderness  of  beauty.  The  pendants 
of  the  yellow  jessamine  swing  to  and  fro  in  the  air  like 
censers,  casting  forth  clouds  of  perfume.  A  thousand 
twining  vines,  with  flowers  of  untold  name,  perhaps  un- 
known as  yet  to  the  botanist,  help  to  fill  up  the  mosaic. 
The  leafy  ramparts  sweep  round  on  all  the  sides  of  the  clear- 
ing, for  the  utmost  care  has  been  taken  to  make  it  impene- 
trable ;  and,  in  that  region  of  heat  and  moisture,  nature,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  admirably  seconds  every  human 
effort.  The  only  egress  from  it  is  a  winding  path  cut 
through  with  a  hatchet,  which  can  be  entered  by  only  one 
person  at  a  time  ;  and  the  water  which  surrounds  this 
island  entirely  cuts  off  the  trail  from  the  scent  of  clogs.  It 
is  to  be  remarked  that  the  climate,  in  the  interior  of  the 
swamp,  is  far  from  being  unhealthy.  Lumber-men,  who 
spend  great  portions  of  the  year  in  it,  cutting  shingles  and 
staves,  testify  to  the  general  salubrity  of  the  air  and  water. 
The  opinion  prevails  among  them  that  the  cpiantity  of  pine 
and  other  resinous  trees  that  grow  there, impart  a  balsamic 
property  to  the  water,  and  impregnate  the  air  with  a  healthy 
resinous  fragrance,  which  causes  it  to  be  an  exception  to  the 
usual  rule  of  the  unhealthiness  of  swampy  land.  The  soil  also, 
when  drained  sufficiently  for  purposes  of  culture,  is  profusely 
fertile.  Two  small  cabins  stood  around  the  border  of  the 
clearing,  but  the  centre  was  occupied  with  patches  of  corn 


292  THE   WORSHIPPERS. 

and  sweet  potatoes,  planted  there  to  secure  as  much  as  pos- 
sible the  advantage  of  sun  and  air. 

At  the  time  we  take  our  readers  there,  the  afternoon  sun 
of  a  sultry  June  day  is  casting-  its  long  shadows  over  the 
place,  and  a  whole  choir  of  birds  is  echoing  in  the  branches. 
On  the  ground,  in  front  of  one  of  the  cabins,  lies  a  negro- 
man,  covered  with  blood  ;  two  women,  with  some  little 
children,  are  grouped  beside  him ;  and  a  wild  figure, 
whom  we  at  once  recognize  as  Dred,  is  kneeling  by  him, 
busy  in  efforts  to  stanch  a  desperate  wound  in  the  neck. 
In  vain  !  The  red  blood  spurts  out  at  every  pulsation  of 
the  heart,  with  a  fearful  regularity,  telling  too  plainly  that 
it  is  a  great  life-artery  which  has  been  laid  open.  The 
negro-woman,  kneeling  on  the  other  side,  is  anxiously  hold- 
ing some  bandages,  which  she  has  stripped  from  a  portion 
of  her  raiment. 

"  0,  put  these  on,  quick  —  do  !  " 

"  It 's  no  use,"  said  Dred  ;   "  he  is  going  !  " 

"  0,  do !  —  don't,  don't  let  him  go  !  Can't  you  save  him  ?  " 
said  the  woman,  in  tones  of  agony. 

The  wounded  man's  eyes  opened,  and  first  fixed  them- 
selves, with  a  vacant  stare,  on  the  blue  sky  above  ;  then, 
turning  on  the  woman,  he  seemed  to  try  to  speak.  He  had 
had  a  strong  arm  ;  ho  tries  to  raise  it,  but  the  blood  wells 
up  with  the  effort,  the  eye  glazes,  the  large  frame  shivers 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  all  is  still.  The  blood  stops 
flowing  now,  for  the  heart  has  stopped  beating,  and  an  im- 
mortal soul  has  gone  back  to  Him  who  gave  it. 

The  man  was  a  fugitive  from  a  neighboring  plantation  — 
a  simple-hearted,  honest  fellow,  who  had  fled,  with  his  wife 
and  children,  to  save  her  from  the  licentious  persecution  of 
the  overseer.  Dred  had  received  and  sheltered  him ;  had 
built  him  a  cabin,  and  protected  him  for  months. 

A  provision  of  the  Revised  Statutes  of  North  Carolina 
enacts  that  slaves  thus  secreted  in  the  swamps,  not  'return- 
ing within  a  given  time,  shall  be  considered  outlawed ;  and 
that  "  it  shall  be  lawful  for  any  person  or  persons  whatso- 


THE   WOESHIPPEES.  293 

ever  to  kill  and  destroy  such  slaves,  by  such  ways  and 
means  as  they  shall  think  fit,  without  any  accusation  or 
impeachment  of  crime  for  the  same."  It  also  provides  that, 
when  any  slave  shall  be  killed  in  consequence  of  such  out- 
lawry, the  value  of  such  slave  shall  be  ascertained  by  a  jury, 
and  the  owner  entitled  to  receive  two  thirds  of  the  valua- 
tion from  the  sheriff  of  the  county  wherein  the  slave  was 
killed. 

In  olden  times,  the  statute  provided  that  the  proclama- 
tion of  outlawry  should  be  published  on  a  Sabbath  day,  at 
the  door  of  any  church  or  chapel,  or  place  where  divine 
service  should  be  performed,  immediately  after  divine  ser- 
vice, by  the  parish  clerk  or  reader. 

In  the  spirit  of  this  permission,  a  party  of  negro-hunters, 
with  dog-s  and  guns,  had  chased  this  man,  who,  on  this  day, 
had  unfortunately  ventured  out  of  his  concealment. 

He  succeeded  in  outrunning  all  but  one  dog,  which  sprang 
up,  and,  fastening  his  fangs  in  his  throat,  laid  him  prostrate 
within  a  few  paces  of  his  retreat.  Dred  came  up  in  time  to 
kill  the  dog,  but  the  wound,  as  appeared,  had  proved  a 
mortal  one. 

As  soon  as  the  wife  perceived  that  her  husband  was  really 
dead,  she  broke  into  a  loud  wail. 

"  0,  dear,  he  's  gone  !  and  'twas  all  for  me  he  did  it! 
0,  he  was  so  good,  such  a  good  man  !  0,  do  tell  me,  is  he 
dead,  is  he?" 

Dred  lifted  the  yet  warm  hand  in  his  a  moment,  and  then 
dropped  it  heavily. 

"Dead!"  he  said,  in  a  deep  undertone  of  suppressed 
emotion.  Suddenly  kneeling  down  beside  him,  he  lifted 
his  hands,  and  broke  forth  with  wild  vehemence  : 

"  0,  Lord  God,  to  whom  vengeance  belongeth,  show  thy- 
self! Lift  up  thyself,  thou  Judge  of  the  earth,  render  a 
reward  to  the  proud  !  Doubtless  thou  art  our  Father,  though 
Abraham  be  ignorant  of  us,  and  Israel  acknowledge  us  not. 
Thou,  0  Lord,  art  our  Father,  our  Redeemer ;  thy  ways  are 
everlasting; — where  is  thy  zeal  and  thy  strength,  and  the 
25* 


294  THE   WOESHIPPEES. 

sounding  of  thy  bowels  towards  us  ?  Are  they  restrained  ? " 
Then,  tossing  his  hands  to  heaven,  with  a  yet  wilder  gesture, 
he  almost  screamed,  "  0,  Lord  !  0,  Lord!  how  long?  0, 
that  thou  wouldst  rend  the  heavens  and  come  down  !  0,  let 
the  sighings  of  the  prisoner  come  before  thee  !  Our  bones 
are  scattered  at  the  grave's  mouth,  as  when  one  cutteth  and 
cleaveth  wood  !  We  are  given  as  sheep  to  the  slaughter  ! 
We  are  killed  all  the  day  long  !  0,  Lord,  avenge  us  of 
our  adversaries  !  " 

These  words  were  spoken  with  a  vehement  earnestness 
of  gesture  and  voice,  that  hushed  the  lamentation  of  the 
mourners.  Rising  up  from  his  knees,  he  stood  a  moment 
looking  down  at  the  lifeless  form  before  him.  "  See  here," 
he  said,  "  what  harm  had  this  man  done  ?  Was  he  not 
peaceable  ?  Did  he  not  live  here  in  quietness,  tilling  the 
ground  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  ?  Why  have  they  sent  the 
hunters  upon  him  ?  Because  he  wanted  to  raise  his  corn 
for  himself,  and  not  for  another.  Because  he  wanted  his 
wife  for  himself,  and  not  for  another.  Was  not  the  world 
wide  enough  ?  Is  n't  there  room  enough  under  the  sky  ? 
Because  this  man  wished  to  eat  the  fruit  of  his  own  labor, 
the  decree  went  forth  against  him,  even  the  curse  of  Cain, 
so  that  whosoever  findeth  him  shall  kill  him.  Will  not 
the  Lord  be  avenged  on  such  a  people  as  this  ?  To-night 
they  will  hold  their  solemn  assembly,  and  blow  the  trumpet 
in  their  new  moon,  and  the  prophets  will  prophesy  falsely, 
and  the  priests  will  speak  wickedly  concerning  oppression. 
The  word  of  the  Lord  saith  unto  me,  '  Go  unto  this  people, 
and  break  before  them  the  staff  beauty  and  the  staff 
bands,  and  be  a  sign  unto  this  people  of  the  terror  of  the 
Lord.  Behold,  saith  the  Lord,  therefore  have  I  raised  thee 
up  and  led  thee  through  the  wilderness,  through  the  deso- 
late places  of  the  land  not  sown.'  " 

As  Dred  spoke,  his  great  black  eye  seemed  to  enlarge 
itself  and  roll  with  a  glassy  fulness,  like  that  of  a  sleep- 
walker in  a  somnambulic  dream.  His  wife,  seeing  him  pre- 
pare to  depart,  threw  herself  upon  him. 


THE   'WORSHIPPERS.  295 

"  0,  don't,  don't  leave  us  !  You  '11  be  killed,  some  of  these 
times,  just  as  they  killed  him  !  " 

"  Woman  !  the  burden  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me.  The  word 
of  the  Lord  is  as  a  fire  shut  up  in  my  bones.  The  Lord 
saith  unto  me,  '  G-o  show  unto  this  people  their  iniquity, 
and  be  a  sign  unto  this  evil  nation  \'  " 

Breaking  away  from  his  wife,  he  precipitated  himself 
through  an  opening  into  the  thicket,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

The  place  selected  for  the  camp-meeting  was  in  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  portions  of  the  neighborhood.  It  was 
a  small,  partially-cleared  spot,  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  for- 
est, which  stretched  away  in  every  direction,  in  cool,  green 
aisles  of  checkered  light  and  shade. 

In  the  central  clearing,  a  sort  of  rude  amphitheatre  of 
seats  was  formed  of  rough-pine  slabs.  Around  on  the  edges 
of  the  forest  the  tents  of  the  various  worshippers  were 
pitched  ;  for  the  spending  of  three  or  four  days  and  nights 
upon  the  ground  is  deemed  an  essential  part  of  the  service. 
The  same  clear  stream  which  wound  round  the  dwelling  of 
Tiff  prattled  its  way,  with  a  modest  gurgle,  through  this 
forest,  and  furnished  the  assembly  with  water. 

The  Gordons,  having  come  merely  for  the  purposes  of 
curiosity,  and  having  a  residence  in  the  neighborhood,  did 
not  provide  themselves  with  a  tent.  The  servants,  however, 
were  less  easily  satisfied.  Aunt  Rose  shook  her  head,  and 
declared,  oracularly,  that  "  De  blessing  was  sure  to  come 
down  in  de  night,  and  dem  dat  wanted  to  get  a  part  of  it 
would  have  to  be  dar  !  " 

Consequently,  Nina  was  beset  to  allow  her  people  to  have 
a  tent,  in  which  they  were  to  take  turns  in  staying  all  night, 
as  candidates  for  the  blessing.  In  compliance  with  that  law 
of  good-humored  indulgence  which  had  been  the  tradition- 
ary usage  of  her  family,  Nina  acceded  ;  and  the  Gordon  tent 
spread  its  snowy  sails,  to  the  rejoicing  of  their  hearts.  Aunt 
Rose  predominated  about  the  door,  alternately  slapping  the 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  297 

children  and  joining-  the  chorus  of  hymns  which  she  heard 
from  every  part  of  the  camp-ground.  On  the  outskirts 
were  various  rude  booths,  in  which  whiskey  and  water,  and 
sundry  articles  of  provision,  and  fodder  for  horses,  were  dis- 
pensed for  a  consideration.  Abijah  Skinflint  here  figured 
among  the  money-changers,  while  his  wife  and  daughter 
were  gossiping  through  the  tents  of  the  women.  In  front 
of  the  seats,  under  a  dense  cluster  of  pines,  was  the  preach- 
ers' stand  :  a  rude  stage  of  rough  boards,  with  a  railing 
around  it,  and  a  desk  of  small  slabs,  supporting  a  Bible 
and  a  hymn-book. 

The  preachers  were  already  assembling ;  and  no  small  cu- 
riosity was  expressed  with  regard  to  them  by  the  people,  who 
were  walking  up  and  down  among  the  tents.  Nina,  leaning' 
on  the  arm  of  Clayton,  walked  about  the  area  with  the  rest. 
Anne  Clayton  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Uncle  John.  Aunt 
Nesbit  and  Aunt  Maria  came  behind.  To  Nina  the 
scene  was  quite  new,  for  a  long  residence  in  the  North- 
ern States  had  placed  her  out  of  the  way  of  such  things ; 
and  her  shrewd  insight  into  character,  and  her  love  of 
drollery,  found  an  abundant  satisfaction  in  the  various 
little  points  and  oddities  of  the  scene.  They  walked  to  the 
Gordon  tent,  in  which  a  preliminary  meeting  was  already  in 
full  course.  A  circle  of  men  and  women,  interspersed  with 
children,  were  sitting,  with  their  eyes  shut,  and  their  heads 
thrown  back,  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Occasion- 
ally, one  or  other  would  vary  the  exercises  by  clapping  of 
hands,  jumping  up  straight  into  the  air,  falling  flat  on  the 
ground,  screaming,  dancing,  and  laughing. 

"  0,  set  me  up  on  a  rock  !  "  screamed  one. 

"  I 's  sot  up  !  "  screamed  another. 

"Glory!"  cried  the  third,  and  a  tempest  of  "amens" 
poured  in  between. 

"  I's  got  a  sperience  !  "  cried  one,  and  forthwith  began 
piping  it  out  in  a  high  key,  while  others  kept  on  singing. 

"  I 's  got  a  sperience  !  "  shouted  Tomtit,  whom  Aunt 
Eose,  with  maternal  care,  had  taken  with  her. 


298  THE   CAMP-MEETING. 

"No,  you  an't,  neither !  Sit  down!"  said  Aunt  Rose, 
kneading  him  down  as  if  he  had  been  a  batch  of  biscuits, 
and  going  on  at  the  same  time  with  her  hymn. 

"  I 's  on  the  Eock  of  Ages  !  "  screamed  a  neighbor. 

"  I  want  to  get  on  a  rock  edgeways  !  "  screamed  Tomtit, 
struggling  desperately  with  Aunt  Rose's  great  fat  hands. 

"  Mind  yourself!  — I  '11  crack  you  over !  "  said  Aunt  Rose. 
And  Tomtit,  still  continuing  rebellious,  ivas  cracked  over 
accordingly,  with  such  force  as  to  send  him  head-foremost 
on  the  straw  at  the  bottom  of  the  tent ;  an  indignity  which 
he  resented  with  loud  howls  of  impotent  wrath,  which, 
however,  made  no  impression  in  the  general  whirlwind  of 
screaming,  shouting,  and  praying. 

Nina  and  Uncle  John  stood  at  the  tent-door  laughing 
heartily.  Clayton  looked  on  with  his  usual  thoughtful  grav- 
ity of  aspect.  Anne  turned  her  head  away  with  an  air  of 
disgust. 

"  Why  don't  you  laugh  ? "  said  Nina,  looking  round  at 
her. 

"  It  does  n't  make  me  feel  like  it,"  said  Anne.  "  It 
makes  me  feel  melancholy." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  religion  is  a  sacred  thing  with  me,  and  I  don't 
like  to  see  it  travestied,"  said  she. 

"  0,"  said  Nina,  "  I  don't  respect  religion  any  the  less 
for  a  good  laugh  at  its  oddities.  I  believe  I  was  born  with- 
out any  organ  of  reverence,  and  so  don't  feel  the  incongruity 
of  the  thing  as  you  do.  The  distance  between  laughing  and 
praying  is  n't  so  very  wide  in  my  mind  as  it  is  in  some 
people's." 

"  We  must  have  charity,"  said  Clayton,  "for  every  reli- 
gious manifestation.  Barbarous  and  half-civilized  people 
always  find  the  necessity  for  outward  and  bodily  demonstra- 
tion in  worship  ;  I  suppose  because  the  nervous  excitement 
wakes  up  and  animates  their  spiritual  natures,  and  gets 
them  into  a  receptive  state,  just  as  you  have  to  shake  up 
sleeping  persons  and  shout  in  their  ears  to  put  them  in  a 


THE   CAMP-MEETING.  299 

condition  to  understand  you.  I  have  known  real  conver- 
sions to  take  place  under  just  these  excitements. " 

"  But/'  said  Anne,  "  I  think  we  might  teach  them  to  be 
decent.     These  things  ought  not  to  be  allowed  !  " 

"  I  believe,"  said  Clayton,  "intolerance  is  a  rooted  vice 
in  our  nature.  The  world  is  as  full  of  different  minds  and 
bodies  as  the  woods  are  of  leaves,  and  each  one  has  its 
own  habit  of  growth.  And  yet  our  first  impulse  is  to  forbid 
everything  that  would  not  be  proper  for  us.  No,  let  the 
African  scream,  dance,  and  shout,  and  fall  in  trances.  It 
suits  his  tropical  lineage  and  blood,  as  much  as  our  thought- 
ful inward  ways  do  us." 

"  I  wonder  who  that  is  !  "  said  Nina,  as  a  general  move- 
ment on  the  ground  proclaimed  the  arrival  of  some  one  who 
appeared  to  be  exciting  general  interest.  The  stranger  was 
an  unusually  tall,  portly  man,  apparently  somewhat  past  the 
middle  of  life,  whose  erect  carriage,  full  figure,  and  red 
cheeks,  and  a  certain  dashing  frankness  of  manner,  might 
have  indicated  him  as  belonging  rather  to  the  military  than 
the  clerical  profession.  He  carried  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder, 
which  he  set  down  carefully  against  the  corner  of  the  preach- 
ers' stand,  and  went  around  shaking  hands  among  the  com- 
pany with  a  free  and  jovial  air  that  might  almost  be  described 
by  the  term  rollicking. 

"  Why,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  that 's  father  Bonnie  !  How 
are  you,  my  fine  fellow  ?  " 

"What!  you,  Mr.  Gordon?  —  How  do  you  do?"  said 
father  Bonnie,  grasping  his  hand  in  his,  and  shaking  it 
heartily.  "  Why,  they  tell  me,"  he  said,  looking  at  him 
with  a  jovial  smile,  "  that  you  have  fallen  from  grace  !  " 

"  Even  so  !  "  said  Uncle  John.  "  I  am  a  sad  dog,  I  dare 
say." 

"  0,  I  tell  you  what,"  said  father  Bonnie,  "  but  it  takes 
a  strong  hook  and  a  long  line  to  pull  in  you  rich  sinners  ! 
Your  money-bags  and  your  niggers  hang  round  you  like 
mill-stones  !  You  are  too  tough  for  the  Gospel  !  Ah  ! " 
said  he,  shaking  his  fist  at  him,  playfully,  "  but  I'm  going 


300  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

to  come  down  upon  you,  to-day,  with  the  law,  I  can  tell 
you  !  You  want  the  thunders  of  Sinai !  You  must  have  a 
dose  of  the  law  !  " 

"Well,77  said  Uncle  John,  "thunder  away!  I  suppose 
we  need  it,  all  of  us.  But,  now,  father  Bonnie,  you  minis- 
ters are  always  preaching  to  us  poor  dogs  on  the  evils  of 
riches  ;  but,  somehow,  I  don7t  see  any  of  you  that  are  much 
afraid  of  owning  horses,  or  niggers,  or  any  other  good  thing 
that  you  can  get  your  hands  on.  Now,  I  hear  that  you  7ve 
got  a  pretty  snug  little  place,  and  a  likely  drove  to  work  it. 
You  711  have  to  look  out  for  your  own  soul,  father  Bonnie  ! " 

A  general  laugh  echoed  this  retort ;  for  father  Bonnie  had 
the  reputation  of  being  a  shrewder  hand  at  a  bargain,  and 
of  having  more  expertness  in  swapping  a  horse  or  trading  a 
negro,  than  any  other  man  for  six  counties  round. 

"He's  into  you,  now,  old  man!77  said  several  of  the 
bystanders,  laughingly. 

"  0,  as  to  that,77  said  father  Bonnie,  laughing,  also,  "I 
go  in  with  Paul,- — they  that  preach  the  Gospel  must  live  of 
the  Gospel.  Now,  Paul  was  a  man  that  stood  up  for  his 
rights  to  live  as  other  folks  do.  '  Is  n7t  it  right,'  says  he, 
'  that  those  that  plant  a  vineyard  should  first  eat  of  the  fruit  ? 
Have  n7t  we  power  to  lead  about  a  sister,  a  wife  ?  7  says  he 
And  if  Paul  had  lived  in  our  time  he  would  have  said  a 
drove  of  niggers,  too  !  No  danger  about  us  ministers  being 
hurt  by  riches,  while  you  laymen  are  so  slow  about  sup- 
porting the  Gospel  !  " 

At  the  elbow  of  father  Bonnie  stood  a  brother  minister, 
who  was  in  many  respects  his  contrast.  He  was  tall,  thin, 
and  stooping,  with  earnest  black  eyes,  and  a  serene  sweet- 
ness of  expression.  A  thread-bare  suit  of  rusty  black, 
evidently  carefully  worn,  showed  the  poverty  of  his  worldly 
estate.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a  small  portmanteau,  prob- 
ably containing  a  change  of  linen,  his  Bible,  and  a  few 
sermons.  Father  Dickson  was  a  man  extensively  known 
through  all  that  region.  He  was  one  of  those  men  among 
the  ministers  of  America,  who  keep  alive  our  faith  in  Chris- 


THE   CAMP-MEETING.  301 

tianity,  and  renew  on  earth  the  portrait  of  the  old  apostle  : 
"  In  journeyings  often,  in  weariness  and  painfulness,  in 
watchings  often,  in  hunger  and  thirst,  in  fastings  often, 
in  cold  and  nakedness.  Besides  those  things  that  are  with- 
out, that  which  cometh  upon  them  daily,  the  care  of  all 
the  churches.  Who  is  weak,  and  they  are  not  weak  ?  who 
is  offended,  and  they  burn  not  ? " 

Every  one  in  the  state  knew  and  respected  father  Dick- 
son ;  and,  like  the  generality  of  the  world,  people  were 
very  well  pleased,  and  thought  it  extremely  proper  and 
meritorious  for  him  to  bear  weariness  and  painfulness,  hun- 
ger and  cold,  in  their  spiritual  service,  leaving  to  them  the 
right  of  attending  or  not  attending  to  him,  according  to 
their  own  convenience.  Father  Dickson  was  one  of  those 
who  had  never  yielded  to  the  common  customs  and  habits 
of  the  country  in  regard  to  the  holding  of  slaves.  A  few, 
who  had  been  left  him  by  a  relation,  he  had  at  great  trouble 
and  expense  transported  to  a  free  state,  and  settled  there 
comfortably.  The  world  need  not  trouble  itself  with  seek- 
ing to  know  or  reward  such  men  ;  for  the  world  cannot 
know  and  has  no  power  to  reward  them.  Their  citizenship 
is  in  heaven,  and  all  that  can  be  given  them  in  this  life  is 
like  a  morsel  which  a  peasant  gives  in  his  cottage  to  him 
who  to-morrow  will  reign  over  a  kingdom. 

He  had  stood  listening  to  the  conversation  thus  far  with  the 
grave  yet  indulgent  air  with  which  he  generally  listened  to 
the  sallies  of  his  ministerial  brothers.  Father  Bonnie,  though 
not  as  much  respected  or  confided  in  as  father  Dickson,  had, 
from  the  frankness  of  his  manners,  and  a  certain  rude  but 
effective  style  of  eloquence,  a  more  general  and  apparent  pop- 
ularity. He  produced  more  sensation  on  the  camp-ground  ; 
could  sing  louder  and  longer,  and  would  often  rise  into 
flights  of  eloquence  both  original  and  impressive.  Many 
were  offended  by  the  freedom  of  his  manner  out  of  the  pul- 
pit ;  and  the  stricter  sort  were  known  to  have  said  of  him, 
"that  when  out  he  never  ought  to  be  in,  and  when  in 
26 


302  THE   CAMP-MEETING. 

never  out."  As  the  laugh  that  rose  at  his  last  sally  died 
away,  he  turned  to  father  Dickson,  and  said  : 

"  What  do  you  think?" 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  father  Dickson,  mildly,  "that  you 
would  ever  have  found  Paul  leading  a  drove  of  negroes." 

"  Why  not,  as  well  as  Abraham,  the  father  of  the  faith- 
ful ?     Did  n't  he  have  three  hundred  trained  servants  ?" 

"  Servants,  perhaps  ;  but  not  slaves  !  "  said  father  Dick- 
son, "  for  they  all  bore  arms.  For  my  part,  I  think  that  the 
buying,  selling,  and  trading,  of  human  beings  for  purposes 
of  gain,  is  a  sin  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"Well,  now,  father  Dickson,  I  wouldn't  have  thought 
you  had  read  your  Bible  to  so  little  purpose  as  that !  I 
would  n't  believe  it  !     What  do  you  say  to  Moses  ?  " 

"  He  led  out  a  whole  army  of  fugitive  slaves  through  the 
Red  Sea,"  said  father  Dickson. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  now,"  said  father  Bonnie,  "if  the  buy- 
ing, selling,  or  holding,  of  a  slave  for  the  sake  of  gain,  is,  as 
you  say,  a  sin,  then  three  fourths  of  all  the  Episcopalians, 
Methodists,  Baptists,  and  Presbyterians,  in  the  slave  states 
of  the  Union,  are  of  the  devil  !  " 

"  I  think  it  is  a  sin,  notwithstanding,"  said  father  Dick- 
son, quietly. 

"  Well,  but  does  n't  Moses  say  expressly,  '  Ye  shall  buy 
of  the  heathen  round  about  you '  ?  " 

"  There  's  into  him  !  "  said  a  Georgia  trader,  who,  having 
camped  with  a  coffle  of  negroes  in  the  neighborhood,  had 
come  up  to  camp-meeting. 

"  All  those  things,"  said  father  Dickson,  "  belong  to  the 
old  covenant,  which  Paul  says  was  annulled  for  the  weak- 
ness and  unprofitableness  thereof,  and  have  nothing  to  do 
with  us,  who  have  risen  with  Christ.  We  have  got  past 
Mount  Sinai  and  the  wilderness,  and  have  come  unto  Mount 
Zion  ;  and  ought  to  seek  the  things  that  are  above,  where 
Christ  sitteth." 

"  I  say,  brother,"  said  another  of  the  ministers,  tapping 
him  on  the  shoulder,   "  it 's  time  for  the  preaching  to  begin, 


THE     CAMP-MEETING.  303 

You  can  finish  your  discussion  some  other  time.  Come, 
father  Bonnie,  come  forward,  here,  and  strike  up  the  hymn." 
Father  Bonnie  accordingly  stepped  to  the  front  of  the 
stand,  and  with  him  another  minister,  of  equal  height  and 
breadth  of  frame,  and,  standing  with  their  hats  on,  they 
uplifted,  in  stentorian  voices,  the  following  hymn  : 

"  Brethren,  don't  you  hear  the  sound  ? 
The  martial  trumpet  now  is  blowing  ; 
Men  in  order  'listing  round, 

And  soldiers  to  the  standard  flowing." 

As  the  sound  of  the  hymn  rolled  through  the  aisles  and 
arches  of  the  wood,  the  heads  of  different  groups,  who  had 
been  engaged  in  conversation,  were  observed  turning  toward 
the  stand,  and  voices  from  every  part  of  the  camp-ground 
took  up  the  air,  as,  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  they 
began  flowing  to  the  place  of  preaching.  The  hymn  went 
on,  keeping  up  the  same  martial  images  : 

"  Bounty  offered,  life  and  peace  ; 
To  every  soldier  this  is  given, 
When  the  toils  of  life  shall  cease, 

A  mansion  bright,  prepared  in  heaven.'' 

As  the  throng  pressed  up,  and  came  crowding  from  the 
distant  aisles  of  the  wood,  the  singers  seemed  to  exert 
themselves  to  throw  a  wilder  vehemence  into  the  song, 
stretching  out  their  arms  and  beckoning  eagerly.  They 
went  on  singing  : 

"  You  need  not  fear  ;  the  cause  is  good, 
Let  who  will  to  the  crown  aspire  : 
In  this  cause  the  martyrs  bled, 
And  shouted  victory  in  the  fire. 

"  In  this  cause  let 's  follow  on, 

And  soon  we  '11  tell  the  pleasing  story, 
How  by  faith  we  won  the  crown, 

And  fought  our  way  to  life  and  glory. 


304  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

"  0,  ye  rebels,  come  and  'list  ! 

The  officers  .are  now  recruiting  : 
Why  will  you  in  sin  persist, 

Or  waste  your  time  in  vain  disputing? 

"  All  excuses  now  are  vain  ; 

For,  if  you  do  not  sue  for  favor, 
Down  you'll  sink  to  endless  pain, 
And  bear  the  wrath  of  God  forever.'' 

There  is  always  something  awful  in  the  voice  of  the  mul- 
titude. It  would  seem  as  if  the  breath  that  a  crowd 
breathed  out  together,  in  moments  of  enthusiasm,  carried 
with  it  a  portion  of  the  dread  and  mystery  of  their  own  im- 
mortal natures.  The  whole  area  before  the  pulpit,  and  in 
the  distant  aisles  of  the  forest,  became  one  vast,  surging  sea 
of  sound,  as  negroes  and  whites,  slaves  and  freemen,  saints 
and  sinners,  slave-holders,  slave-hunters,  slave-traders,  min- 
isters, elders,  and  laymen,  alike  joined  in  the  pulses  of  that 
mighty  song.  A  flood  of  electrical  excitement  seemed  to 
rise  with  it,  as,  with  a  voice  of  many  waters,  the  rude  chant 
went  on : 

"  Ilark  !  the  victors  singing  loud  ! 

Emanuel's  chariot-wheels  are  rumbling  ; 
Mourners  weeping  through  the  crowd, 
And  Satan's  kingdom  down  is  tumbling  ! " 

Our  friend,  Ben  Daldn,  pressed  to  the  stand,  and,  with 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  exceeded  all  others  in  the 
energy  of  his  vociferations.  Ben  had  just  come  from  almost 
a  fight  with  another  slave-hunter,  who  had  boasted  a  better- 
trained  pack  of  dogs  than  his  own ;  and  had  broken  away  to 
hurry  to  the  camp-ground,  with  the  assurance  that  he  'd 
"  give  him  fits  when  the  preachin'  was  over  ; 7;  and  now  he 
stood  there,  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  singing  with  the 
heartiest  earnestness  and  devotion.  What  shall  we  make 
'of  it?  Poor  heathen  Ben !  is  it  anymore  out  of  the  way 
for  him  to  think  of  being  a  Christian  in  this  manner,  than 
for  some  of  his  more   decent  brethren,  who  take  Sunday 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  305 

passage  for  eternity  in  the  cushioned  New  York  or  Boston 
pews,  and  solemnly  drowse  through  very  sleepy  tunes,  un- 
der a  dim,  hazy  impression  that  they  are  going  to  heaven  ? 
Of  the  two,  we  think  Ben's  chance  is  the  best ;  for,  in  some 
blind  way,  he  does  think  himself  a  sinner,  and  in  need  of 
something  he  calls  salvation  ;  and,  doubtless,  while  the  tears 
stream  down  his  face,  the  poor  fellow  makes  a  new  resolve 
against  the  whiskey-bottle,  while  his  more  respectable  sleepy 
brethren  never  think  of  making  one  against  the  cotton-bale. 

Then  there  was  his  rival,  also,  Jim  Stokes,  — a  surly,  foul- 
mouthed,  swearing  fellow, — he  joins  in  the  chorus  of  the 
hymn,  and  feels  a  troublous,  vague  yearning,  deep  clown 
within  him,  which  makes  him  for  the  moment  doubt  whether 
he  had  better  knock  down  Ben  at  the  end  of  the  meeting. 

As  to  Harry,  who  stood  also  among  the  crowd,  the  words 
and  tune  recalled  but  too  vividly  the  incidents  of  his  morn- 
ing's interview  with  Dred,  and  with  it  the  tumultuous  boil- 
ing of  his  bitter  controversy  with  the  laws  of  the  society  in 
which  he  found  himself.  In  hours  of  such  high  excitement, 
a  man  seems  to  have  an  intuitive  perception  of  the  whole 
extent  and  strength  of  what  is  within  himself;  and,  if  there 
be  anything  unnatural  or  false  in  his  position,  he  realizes  it 
with  double  intensity. 

Mr.  John  Gordon,  likewise,  gave  himself  up,  without  resist- 
ance, to  be  swayed  by  the  feeling  of  the  hour.  He  sung 
with  enthusiasm,  and  wished  he  was  a  soldier  of  some- 
body, going  somewhere,  or  a  martyr  shouting  victory  in 
the  fire  ;  and  if  the  conflict  described  had  been  with  any 
other  foe  than  his  own  laziness  and  self-indulgence  —  had 
there  been  any  outward,  tangible  enemy,  at  the  moment  — 
he  would  doubtless  have  enlisted,  without  loss  of  time. 

When  the  hymn  was  finished,  however,  there  was  a  gen- 
eral wiping  of  eyes,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  listen  to  the 
sermon.  Father  Bonnie  led  off  in  an  animated  strain.  His 
discourse  was  like  the  tropical  swamp,  bursting  out  with  a 
lush  abundance  of  every  kind  of  growth  —  grave,  gay,  gro- 
tesque, solemn,  fanciful,  and  even  coarse  caricature,  pro- 
26* 


306  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

voking  the  broadest  laughter.  The  audience  were  swayed 
hj  him  like  trees  before  the  wind.  There  were  not  wanting 
touches  of  rude  pathos,  as  well  as  earnest  appeals.  The 
meeting  was  a  union  one  of  Presbyterians  and  Methodists,  in 
which  the  ministers  of  both  denominations  took  equal  part ; 
and  it  was  an  understood  agreement  among  them,  of  course, 
that  they  were  not  to  venture  upon  polemic  ground,  or  attack 
each  other's  peculiarities  of  doctrine.  But  Abijah's  favorite 
preacher  could  not  get  through  a  sermon  without  some  quite 
pointed  exposition  of  scripture  bearing  on  his  favorite  doc- 
trine of  election,  which  caused  the  next  minister  to  run  a 
vehement  tilt  on  the  correlative  doctrines  of  free  grace, 
with  a  eulogy  on  John  Wesley.  The  auditors,  meanwhile, 
according  to  their  respective  sentiments,  encouraged  each 
preacher  with  a  cry  of  "  Amen  !  "  "  Glory  be  to  God  !  " 
"  Go  on,  brother  !  "  and  other  similar  exclamations. 

About  noon  the  services  terminated,  pro  tern.,  and  the 
audience  dispersed  themselves  to  their  respective  tents 
through  the  grove,  where  there  was  an  abundance  of  chat- 
ting, visiting,  eating,  and  drinking,  as  if  the  vehement  de- 
nunciations and  passionate  appeals  of  the  morning  had  been 
things  of  another  state  of  existence.  Uncle  John,  in  the 
most  cheery  possible  frame  of  mind,  escorted  his  party  into 
the  woods,  and  assisted  them  in  unpacking  a  hamper  con- 
taining wine,  cold  fowls,  cakes,  pies,  and  other  delicacies 
which  Aunt  Katy  had  packed  for  the  occasion. 

Old  Tiff  had  set  up  his  tent  in  a  snug  little  nook  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  where  he  informed  passers  by  that  it 
was  his  young  inas'r  and  missis's  establishment,  and  that  he, 
Tiff,  had  come  to  wait  on  them.  With  a  good-natured  view 
of  doing  him  a  pleasure,  Nina  selected  a  spot  for  their 
nooning  at  no  great  distance,  and  spoke  in  the  most  gra- 
cious and  encouraging  manner  to  them,  from  time  to  time. 

"  See,  now,  can't  you,  how  real  quality  behaves  dem- 
selves  !  "  he  said,  grimly,  to  Old  Hundred,  who  came  up 
bringing  the  carriage-cushions  for  the  party  to  sit  down 
upon.     "  Real  quality  sees  into  things !     I  tell  ye  what, 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  307 

blood  sees  into  blood.  Miss  Nina  sees  dese  yer  chil'en  an't 
de  common  sort  —  dat  's  what  she  does  !  " 

"  Umph  !  "  said  Old  Hundred,  "  such  a  muss  as  ye  keep 
up  about  yer  chil'en  !  Tell  you  what,  dey  an't  no  better 
dan  oder  white  trash  !  " 

"  Now,  you  talk  dat  ar  wa}r,  I  '11  knock  you  down  !  "  said 
Old  Tiff,  who,  though  a  peaceable  and  law-abiding  creature, 
in  general,  was  driven,  in  desperation,  to  the  last  resort  of 
force. 

"  John,  what  are  you  saying  to  Tiff?"  said  Nina,  who 
had  overheard  some  of  the  last  words.  "  Go  back  to  your 
own  tent,  and  don't  you  trouble  him  !  I  have  taken  him 
under  my  protection." 

The  party  enjoyed  their  dinner  with  infinite  relish,  and 
Nina  amused  herself  in  watching  Tiff's  cooking  prepara- 
tions. Before  departing  to  the  preaching-ground,  he  had 
arranged  a  slow  fire,  on  which  a  savory  stew  had  been  all 
the  morning  simmering,  and  which,  on  the  taking  off  of  the 
pot-lid,  diffused  an  agreeable  odor  through  the  place. 

"  I  say,  Tiff,  how  delightfully  that  smells  !  "  said  Nina, 
getting  up,  and  looking  into  the  pot.  "Wouldn't  Miss 
Fanny  be  so  kind  as  to  favor  us  with  a  taste  of  it  ?  " 

Fanny,  to  whom  Tiff  punctiliously  referred  the  question, 
gave  a  bashful  consent.  But  who  shall  describe  the  pride 
and  glory  that  swelled  the  heart  of  Tiff  as  he  saw  a  bowl 
of  his  stew  smoking  among  the  Gordon  viands,  praised  and 
patronized  by  the  party  ?  And,  when  Nina  placed  on  their 
simple  board  —  literally  a  board,  and  nothing  more — a 
small  loaf  of  frosted  cake,  in  exchange,  it  certainly  required 
all  the  grace  of  the  morning  exercises  to  keep  Tiff  within 
due  bounds  of  humility.  He  really  seemed  to  dilate  with 
satisfaction. 

"  Tiff,  how  did  you  like  the  sermon  ?  "  said  Nina. 

"Dey's  pretty  far,  Miss  Nina.  Der's  a  good^  deal  o' 
quality  preaching." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  quality  preaching,  Tiff  ?  " 

"  Why,  dat  ar  kind  dat 's  good  for  quality  —  full  of  long 


308  THE   CAMP-MEETING. 

words,  you  know.  I  spects  it  's  very  good  ;  but  poor  nig- 
ger like  me  can't  see  his  way  through  it.  You  see,  Miss 
Nina,  what  I  \s  studdin'  on,  lately,  is,  how  to  get  dese  yer 
chil'en  to  Canaan  ;  and  I  hars  fus  with  one  ear,  and  den  with 
t'  oder,  but  'pears  like  an't  clar  'bout  it,  yet.  Dere  's  a  heap 
about  mose  everything  else,  and  it's  all  very  good  ;  but 
'pears  like  I  an't  clar,  arter  all,  about  dat  ar.  Dey  says, 
'  Come  to  Christ ; '  and  I  says,  '  Whar  is  he,  any  how  ? '  Bress 
you,  I  want  to  come !  Dey  talks  'bout  going  in  de  gate, 
and  knocking  at  de  do',  and  'bout  marching  on  de  road,  and 
'bout  fighting  and  being  soldiers  of  de  cross  ;  and  de  Lord 
knows,  now,  I  'd  be  glad  to  get  de  chil'en  through  any  gate  ; 
and  I  could  take  'em  on  my  back  and  travel  all  day,  if  dere 
was  any  road  ;  and  if  dere  was  a  do',  bless  me,  if  dey 
would  n't  hear  Old  Tiff  a  rapping  !  I  spects  de  Lord  would 
have  fur  to  open  it  —  would  so.  But,  arter  all,  when  de 
preaching  is  done,  dere  don't  'pear  to  be  nothing  to  it. 
Dere  an't  no  gate,  dere  an't  no  do',  nor  no  way  ;  and  dere 
an't  no  fighting,  'cept  when  Ben  Dakin  and  Jim  Stokes  get 
jawing  about  der  dogs  ;  and  everybody  comes  back  eating 
der  dinner  quite  comf  'table,  and  'pears  like  dere  wan't  no 
such  ting  dey  's  been  preaching  'bout.  Dat  ar  troubles  me 
—  does  so  —  'cause  I  wants  fur  to  get  dese  yer  chil'en  in 
de  kingdom,  some  way  or  oder.  I  did  n't  know  but  some 
of  de  quality  would  know  more  'bout  it." 

"  Hang  me,  if  I  have  n't  felt  just  so  !  "  said  Uncle  John. 
"  When  they  were  singing  that  hymn  about  enlisting  and 
being  a  soldier,  if  there  had  been  any  fighting'  doing  any- 
where, I  should  have  certainly  gone  right  into  it ;  and  the 
preaching  always  stirs  me  up  terribly.  But,  then,  as  Tiff 
says,  after  it 's  all  over,  why,  there  's  dinner  to  be  eaten, 
and  I  can't  see  anything  better  than  to  eat  it ;  and  then, 
by  the  time  I  have  drank  two  or  three  glasses  of  wine,  it 's 
all  gone.     Now,  that 's  just  the  way  with  me  !  " 

"  Dey' says,"  said  Tiff,  "  dat  we  must  wait  for  de  blessing 
to  come  down  upon  us,  and  Aunt  Bose  says  it 's  dem  dat 
shouts  dat  gets  de  blessing  ;  and  I 's  been  shouting  till  I 's 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  309 

most  beat  out,  but  I  has  n't  got  it.  Den,  one  of  clem  said 
none  of  dem  could  get  it  but  de  'lect ;  but,  den,  t'  oder  one,  he 
seemed  to  tink  different ;  and  in  de  meeting  dey  tells  about 
de  scales  falling  from  der  eyes,  —  and  I  wished  dey  fall  from 
mine  —  I  do  so  !  Perhaps,  Miss  Nina,  now,  you  could  tell 
me  someting." 

"  0,  don't  ask  me  !  "  said  Nina  ;  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  these  things.  I  think  I  feel  a  little  like  Uncle  John," 
she  said,  turning  to  Clayton.  "  There  are  two  kinds  of 
sermons  and  hymns ;  one  gets  me  to  sleep,  and  the  other 
excites  and  stirs  me  up  in  a  general  kind  of  way  ;  but  they 
don't  either  seem  to  do  me  real  good." 

"  For  my  part,  I  am  such  an  enemy  to  stagnation,"  said 
Clayton,  "that  I  think  there  is  advantage  in  everything 
that  stirs  up  the  soul,  even  though  we  see  no  immediate 
results.  I  listen  to  music,  see  pictures,  as  far  as  I  can, 
uncritically.  I  say,  '  Here  I  am  ;  see  what  you  can  do  with 
me.'  So  I  present  myself  to  almost  all  religious  exercises- 
It  is  the  most  mysterious  part  of  our  nature.  1  do  not  pre- 
tend to  understand  it,  therefore  never  criticize." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Anne,  "there  is  so  much  in  the 
wild  freedom  of  these  meetings  that  shocks  my  taste  and 
sense  of  propriety,  that  I  am  annoyed  more  than  I  am  ben- 
efited." 

"  There  spoke  the  true,  well-trained  conventionalist,"  said 
Clayton.  "  But  look  around  you.  See,  in  this  wood, 
among  these  flowers,  and  festoons  of  vine,  and  arches  of 
green,  how  many  shocking,  unsightly  growths  !  You  would 
not  have  had  all  this  underbrush,  these  dead  limbs,  these 
briers  running  riot  over  trees,  and  sometimes  choking  and 
killing  them.  You  would  have  well-trimmed  trees  and  vel- 
vet turf.  But  I  love  briers,  dead  limbs,  and  all,  for  their 
very  savage  freedom.  Every  once  in  a  while  you  see  in  a 
wood  a  jessamine,  or  a  sweet-brier,  or  grape-vine,  that 
throws  itself  into  a  gracefulness  of  growth  which  a  landscape 
gardener  would  go  down  on  his  knees  for,  but  cannot  get. 
Nature  resolutely  denies  it  to  him.     She  says,  '  No  !  I  keep 


310  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

this  for  my  own.  You  won't  have  my  wilclness  —  my  free- 
dom ;  very  well,  then  you  shall  not  have  the  graces  that 
spring  from  it.'  Just  so  it  is  with  men.  Unite  any  assem- 
bly of  common  men  in  a  great  enthusiasm,  — work  them  up 
into  an  abandon,  and  let  every  one  'let  go/  and  speak  as 
nature  prompts,  — •  and  you  will  have  brush,  underwood, 
briers,  and  all  grotesque  growths  ;  but,  now  and  then,  some 
thought  or  sentiment  will  be  struck  out  with  a  freedom  or 
power  such  as  you  cannot  get  in  any  other  way.  You  cul- 
tivated people  are  much  mistaken  when  you  despise  the 
enthusiasms  of  the  masses.  There  is  more  truth  than  you 
think  in  the  old  '  vox  populi,  vox  Dei.'  " 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  Nina. 

"  '  The  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice  of  God.'  There 
is  truth  in  it.  I  never  repent  my  share  in  a  popular  excite- 
ment, provided  it  be  of  the  higher  sentiments  ;  and  I  do  not 
ask  too  strictly  whether  it  has  produced  any  tangible  results. 
I  reverence  the  people,  as  I  do  the  woods,  for  the  wild, 
grand  freedom  with  which  their  humanity  develops  itself." 

"  I  'm  afraid,  Nina,"  said  Aunt  Nesbit,  in  a  low  tone,  to 
the  latter,  "  I  ;m  afraid  he  is  n't  orthodox." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  aunt  ?  " 

"  0,  I  don't  know  ;  his  talk  has  n't  the  real  sound." 

"  You  want  something  that  ends  in  '  ation,'  don't  you, 
aunt? — justification,  sanctification,  or  something  of  that 
kind." 

%  ;fc  >£  #  >|;  %  ^: 

Meanwhile,  the  department  of  Abijah  Skinflint  exhibited 
a  decided  activity.  This  was  a  long,  low  booth,  made  of 
poles,  and  roofed  with  newly-cut  green  boughs.  Here  the 
whiskey-barrel  was  continually  pouring  forth  its  supplies  to 
customers  who  crowded  around  it.  Abijah  sat  on  the  mid- 
dle of  a  sort  of  rude  counter,  dangling  his  legs,  and  chew- 
ing a  straw,  while  his  negro  was  busy  in  helping  his  various 
customers.  Abijah,  as  we  said,  being  a  particularly  high 
Calvinist,  was  recreating  himself  by  carrying  on  a  discus- 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  311 

sion  with  a  fat,  little,  turnipy  brother,  of  the  Methodist  per- 
suasion. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  "  Stringfellow  put  it  into  you  Metho- 
dists, this  morning'  !     Hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  I  thought !  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  said  the  other,  contemptuously. 
"  Why,  elder  Baskum  chawed  him  up  completely  !  There 
wan't  nothin'  left  of  him  I  " 

"  Well,"  said  Abijah,  "  strange  how  folks  will  see  things ! 
Why,  it 's  just  as  clar  to  me  that  all  things  is  decreed  ! 
Why,  that  ar  nails  everything  up  tight  and  handsome.  It 
gives  a  fellow  a  kind  of  comfort  to  think  on  it.  Things  is 
just  as  they  have  got  to  be.  All  this  free-grace  stuff  is 
drefful  loose  talk.  If  things  is  been  decreed  'fore  the  world 
was  made,  well,  there  seems  to  be  some  seuse  in  their  com- 
ing to  pass.  But,  if  everything  kind  of  turns  up  when- 
ever folks  think  on  't,  it 's  a  kind  of  shaky  business." 

"  I  don't  like  this  tying  up  things  so  tight,"  said  the 
other,  who  evidently  was  one  of  the  free,  jovial  order.  "  I 
go  in  for  the  freedom  of  the  will.  Free  Gospel,  and  free 
grace." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Abijah,  rather  grimly,  "if  things 
was  managed  my  way,  I  should  n't  commune  with  nobody 
that  did  n't  believe  in  election,  up  to  the  hub." 

"You  strong  electioners  think  you  's  among  the  elect!  " 
said  one  of  the  bystanders.  "  You  would  n't  be  so  crank 
about  it,  if  you  did  n't !  Now,  see  here  :  if  everything  is 
decreed,  how  am  I  going  to  help  myself?  " 

"  That  ar  is  none  of  my  look-out,"  said  Abijah.  "  But 
there  's  a  pint  my  mind  rests  upon  —  everything  is  fixed  as 
it  can  be,  and  it  makes  a  man  mighty  easy." 

*jf.  %  >k  ■}{  -%. 

In  another  part  of  the  camp-ground,  Ben  Dakin  was  sit- 
ing in  his  tent  door,  caressing  one  of  his  favorite  dogs,  and 
partaking  his  noontide  repast  with  his  wife  and  child. 

"  I  declar,"  said  Ben,  wiping  his  mouth,  "  wife,  I  intend 
to  go  into  it,  and  sarve  the  Lord,  now,  full  chisel !  If  I 
catch  the  next  lot  of  niggers,  I  intend  to  give  half  the 


312  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

money  towards  keeping  up  preaching1  somewhere  round 
here.     I  'm  going  to  enlist,  now,  and  be  a  soldier." 

"  And,"  said  his  wife,  "  Ben,  just  keep  clear  of  Abijah 
Skinflint's  counter,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will,  durned  if  I  won't !  "  said  Ben.  "  I  '11  be 
moderate.  A  fellow  wants  a  glass  or  two,  to  sti'ike  up  the 
hymn  on,  you  know  ;  but  I  '11  be  moderate." 

The  Georgia  trader,  who  had  encamped  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, now  came  up. 

"  Do  you  believe,  stranger,"  said  he,  "  one  of  them 
durned  niggers  of  mine  broke  loose  and  got  in  the  swamps, 
while  I  was  at  meeting  this  morning  !  Couldn't  you  take 
your  dog,  here,  and  give  'em  a  run  ?  I  just  gave  nine  hun- 
dred dollars  for  that  fellow,  cash  down." 

"  Ho  !  what  you  going  to  him  for?  "  said  Jim  Stokes,  a 
short,  pursy,  vulgar-looking  individual,  dressed  in  a  hunt- 
ing-shirt of  blue  Kentucky  jean,  who  just  then  came  up. 
"  Why,  durn  ye,  his  dogs  an't  no  breed  't  all !  Mine  's  the 
true  grit,  I  can  tell  you ;  they  's  the  true  Florida  blood-hounds ! 
I 's  seen  one  of  them  ar  dogs  shake  a  nigger  in  his  mouth 
like  he  'd  been  a  sponge." 

Poor  Ben's  new-found  religion  could  not  withstand  this 
sudden  attack  of  his  spiritual  enemy  ;  and,  rousing  himself, 
notwithstanding  the  appealing  glances  of  his  wife,  he 
stripped  up  his  sleeves,  and,  squaring  off,  challenged  his 
rival  to  a  fight. 

A  crowd  gathered  round,  laughing  and  betting-,  and 
cheering  on  the  combatants  with  slang  oaths  and  expres- 
sions, such  as  we  will  not  repeat,  when  the  concourse  was 
routed  by  the  approach  of  father  Bonnie  on  the  outside  of 
the  ring. 

"  Look  here,  boys,  what  works  of  the  devil  have  you  got 
round  here  ?  None  of  this  on  the  camp-ground  !  This  is  the 
Lord's  ground,  here  ;  so  shut  up  your  swearing,  and  don't 
fight." 

A  confused  murmur  of  voices  now  began  to  explain  to 
father  Bonnie  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  313 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  he,  "  let  the  nigger  run  ;  you  can  catch 
him  fast  enough  when  the  meetings  are  over.  You  come 
here  to  'tend  to  your  salvation.  Ah,  don't  you  be  swearing 
and  blustering  round  !  Come,  boys,  join  in  a  hymn  with 
me."     So  saying,  he  struck  up  a  well-known  air  : 

"  When  Israel  went  to  Jericho, 
0,  good  Lord,  in  my  soul  !  " 

in  which  one  after  another  joined,  and  the  rising  tumult 
was  soon  assuaged. 

"  I  say,"  said  father  Bonnie  to  the  trader,  in  an  under 
tone,  as  he  was  walking  away,  "you  got  a  good  cook  in 
your  lot,  hey  ? 

"  Got  a  prime  one,"  said  the  trader  ;  "an  A  number 
one  cook,  and  no  mistake  !  Picked  her  up  real  cheap,  and 
I  '11  let  you  have  her  for  eight  hundred  dollars,  being  as  you 
are  a  minister." 

"  You  must  think  the  Gospel  a  better  trade  than  it  is," 
said  father  Bonnie,  "  if  you  think  a  minister  can  afford  to 
pay  at  that  figure  !  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  trader,  "  you  have  n't  seen  her ;  it 's 
dirt  cheap  for  her,  I  can  tell  you  !  A  sound,  strong,  hearty 
woman  ;  a  prudent,  careful  housekeeper  ;  a  real  pious  Meth- 
odist, a  member  of  a  class-meeting !  Why,  eight  hundred 
dollars  an't  anything  !  I  ought  to  get  a  thousand  for  her  ; 
but  I  don't  hear  preaching  for  nothing, —  always  think  right 
to  make  a  discount  to  ministers  !  " 

"  Why  could  n't  you  bring  her  in  ?  "  said  father  Bonnie. 
"  Maybe  I  '11  give  you  seven  hundred  and  fifty  for  her." 

"  Could  n't  do  that,  no  way !  "  said  the  trader.  "  Could  n't, 
indeed!  " 

"  Well,  after  the  meetings  are  over  I  '11  talk  about  it." 

"  She  's  got  a  child,  four  years  old,"  said  the  trader,  with 
a  little  cough;  "  healthy,  likely  child;  I  suppose  I  shall 
want  a  hundred  dollars  for  him  !  " 

"  0,  that  won't  do  1  "  said  father  Bonnie.     "  I  don't  want 
any  more  children  round  my  place  than  I  've  got  now  !  " 
27 


314  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

"But,  I  tell  you,"  said  the  trader,  "it's  a  likely  boy. 
Why,  the  keeping-  of  him  won't  cost  you  anything,  and  be- 
fore you  think  of  it  you  '11  have  a  thousand-dollar  hand 
grown  on  your  own  place." 

"  Well,"  said  father  Bonnie,  "  1  '11  think  of  it !  " 
In  the  evening  the  scene  on  the  camp-ground  was  still 
more  picturesque  and  impressive.  Those  who  conduct 
camp-meetings  are  generally  men  who,  without  much  rea- 
soning upon  the  subject,  fall  into  a  sort  of  tact,  in  influencing 
masses  of  mind,  and  pressing  into  the  service  all  the  great 
life  forces  and  influences  of  nature.  A  kind  of  rude  poetry 
pervades  their  minds,  colors  their  dialect,  and  influences 
their  arrangements.  The  solemn  and  harmonious  grandeur 
of  night,  with  all  its  mysterious  power  of  exalting  the  pas- 
sions and  intensifying  the  emotions,  has  ever  been  appre- 
ciated, and  used  by  them  with  even  poetic  skill.  The  day 
had  been  a  glorious  one  in  June  ;  the  sky  of  that  firm,  clear 
blue,  the  atmosphere  of  that  crystalline  clearness,  which 
often  gives  to  the  American  landscape  such  a  sharply- 
defined  outline,  and  to  the  human  system  such  an  intense 
consciousness  of  life.  The  evening  sun  went  down  in  a 
broad  sea  of  light,  and  even  after  it  had  sunk  below  the 
purple  horizon,  flashed  back  a  flood  of  tremulous  rose-col- 
ored radiance,  which,  taken  up  by  a  thousand  filmy  clouds, 
made  the  whole  sky  above  like  a  glowing  tent  of  the  most 
ethereal  brightness.  The  shadows  of  the  forest  aisles  were 
pierced  by  the  rose-colored  rays  ;  and,  as  they  gradually 
faded,  star  after  star  twinkled  out,  and  a  broad  moon, 
ample  and  round,  rose  in  the  purple  zone  of  the  sky.  When 
she  had  risen  above  the  horizon  but  a  short  space,  her  light 
was  so  resplendent,  and  so  profuse,  that  it  was  decided  to 
conduct  the  evening  service  by  that  alone  ;  and  when,  at 
the  sound  of  the  hymn,  the  assembly  poured  in  and  arranged 
themselves  before  the  preaching-stand,  it  is  probable  that 
the  rudest  heart  present  was  somewhat  impressed  with  the 
silent  magnificence  by  which  God  was  speaking  to  them 
through  his  works.      As  the  hymn  closed,  father  Bonnie, 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  3 10 

advancing1  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  lifted  his  hands,  and 
pointing  to  the  purple  sky,  and  in  a  deep  and  not  unmelo- 
dious  voice,  repeated  the  words  of  the  Psalmist  : 

"  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firma- 
ment showeth  his  handy-work  ;  clay  unto  day  uttereth 
speech,  and  night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge." 

"  0,  ye  sinners  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  look  up  at  the  moon, 
there,  walking  in  her  brightness,  and  think  over  your  oaths, 
and  your  cursings,  and  your  drinkings  !  Think  over  your 
backbitings,  and  your  cheatings  !  think  over  your  quarrel- 
lings  and  your  fightings  !  How  do  they  look  to  you  now, 
with  that  blessed  moon  shining  down  upon  you  ?  Don't 
you  see  the  beauty  of  our  Lord  God  upon  her  ?  Don't  you 
see  how  the  saints  walk  in  white  with  the  Lord,  like  her  ? 
I  dare  say  some  of  you,  now,  have  had  a  pious  mother,  or  a 
pious  wife,  or  a  pious  sister,  that 's  gone  to  glory  ;  and  there 
they  are  walking  with  the  Lord  !  — walking  with  the  Lord, 
through  the  sky,  and  looking  down  on  you,  sinners,  just  as 
that  moon  looks  down  !  And  what  does  she  see  you  doing, 
your  wife,  or  your  mother,  or  sister,  that 's  in  glory  ?  Does 
she  see  all  your  swearings,  and  your  drinkings,  and  your 
fightings,  and  your  hankerings  after  money,  and  your  horse- 
racings,  and  your  cock-fightings  ?  0,  sinners,  but  you  are 
a  bad  set !  I  tell  you  the  Lord  is  looking  now  down  on 
you,  out  of  that  moon  !  He  is  looking  down  in  mercy  ! 
But,  I  tell  you,  he  '11  look  down  quite  another  way,  one  of 
these  days  !  0,  there  '11  be  a  time  of  wrath,  by  and  by,  if 
you  don't  repent !  0,  what  a  time  there  was  at  Sinai, 
years  ago,  when-  the  voice  of  the  trumpet  waxed  louder 
and  louder,  and  the  mountain  was  all  of  a  smoke,  and  there 
were  thunderings  and  lightnings,  and  the  Lord  descended 
on  Sinai !  That 's  nothing  to  what  you  '11  see,  by  and  by  ! 
No  more  moon  looking  down  on  you  !  No  more  stars, 
but  the  heavens  shall  pass  away  with  a  great  noise,  and  the 
elements  shall  melt  with  fervent  heat !  Ah  !  did  you  ever 
see  a  fire  in  the  woods  ?  I  have  ;  and  I  've  seen  the  fire  on 
the  prairies,  and  it  rolled  like  a  tempest,  and  men  and  horses, 


316  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

and  everything,  had  to  run  before  it.  I  have  seen  it  roar- 
ing and  crackling  through  the  woods,  and  great  trees  shriv- 
elled in  a  minute  like  tinder  !  I  have  seen  it  flash  over  trees 
seventy-five  and  a  hundred  feet  high,  and  in  a  minute  they  'd 
be  standing  pillars  of  fire,  and  the  heavens  were  all  a  blaze, 
and  the  crackling  and  roaring  was  like  the  sea  in  a  storm. 
There  's  a  judgment-day  for  you  !  0,  sinner,  what  will 
become  of  you  in  that  day  ?  Never  cry,  Lord,  Lord  !  Too 
late  —  too  late,  man  !  You  woidd  n't  take  mercy  when  it 
was  offered,  and  now  you  shall  have  wrath  !  No  place  to 
hide  !  The  heavens  and  earth  are  passing  away,  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  sea  I  There  ;s  no  place  for  you  now  in 
God's  universe." 

By  this  time  there  were  tumultuous  responses  from  the 
audience,  of  groans,  cries,  clapping  of  hands,  and  mingled 
shouts  of  glory  and  amen  ! 

The  electric  shout  of  the  multitude  acted  on  the  preacher 
again,  as  he  went  on,  with  a  yet  fiercer  energy.  "  Now  is 
your  time,  sinners  !  Now  is  your  time  !  Come  unto  the 
altar,  and  God's  people  will  pray  for  you  !  Now  is  the  day 
of  grace  !  Come  up  !  Come  up,  you  that  have  got  pious 
fathers  and  mothers  in  glory  !  Come  up,  father  !  come  up, 
mother  !  come  up,  brother  !  Come,  young  man  !  we  want  you 
to  come  !  Ah,  there  's  a  hardened  sinner,  off  there  !  I  see 
his  lofty  looks  !  Come  up,  come  up  !  Come  up,  you  rich 
sinners  !  You  '11  be  poor  enough  in  the  day  of  the  Lord,  I 
can  tell  you  !  Come  up,  you  young  women  !  You  daugh- 
ters of  Jerusalem,  with  your  tinkling  ornaments  !  Come, 
saints  of  the  Lord,  and  labor  with  me  in  prayer.  Strike  up 
a  hymn,  brethren,  strike  up  the  hymn  !  "  And  a  thousand 
voices  commenced  the  hymn, 

"  Stop,  poor  sinner,  stop  and  think, 
Before  you  further  go  ! " 

And,  meanwhile,  ministers  and  elders  moved  around  the 
throng,  entreating  and  urging  one  and  another  to  come  and 
kneel  before  the  stand.    Multitudes  rushed  forward,  groans 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  317 

and  sobs  were  heard,  as  the  speaker  continued,  with 
redoubled  vehemence. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Mr.  John  Gordon,  "  who  sees  me; 
I  'm  going  up  !  I  am  a  poor  old  sinner,  and  I  ought  to  be 
prayed  for,  if  anybody." 

Nina  shrank  back,  and  clung  to  Clayton's  arm.  So  vehe- 
ment was  the  surging  feeling  of  the  throng  around  her,  that 
she  wept  with  a  wild,  tremulous  excitement. 

"  Do  take  me  out, —  it 's  dreadful !  "  she  said. 

Clayton  passed  his  arm  round  her,  and,  opening  a  way 
through  the  crowd,  carried  her  out  beyond  the  limits,  where 
they  stood  together  alone,  under  the  tree. 

"I  know  I  am  not  good  as  I  ought  to  be,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  don't  know  how  to  be  any  better.  Do  you  think  it 
would  do  me  any  good  to  go  up  there  ?  Do  you  believe  in 
these  things  ?  " 

"  I  sympathize  with  every  effort  that  man  makes  to  ap- 
proach his  Maker,"  said  Clayton  ;  "these  ways  do  not  suit 
me,  but  I  dare  not  judge  them.  I  cannot  despise  them.  I 
must  not  make  myself  a  rule  for  others." 

"  But,  don't  you  think,"  said  Nina,  "  that  these  things 
do  harm  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Alas,  child,  what  form  of  religion  does  not?  It  is  our 
fatality  that  everything  that  does  good  must  do  harm.  It 's 
the  condition  of  our  poor,  imperfect  life  here." 

"  I  do  not  like  these  terrible  threats,"  said  Nina.  "  Can 
fear  of  fire  make  me  love  ?  Besides,  I  have  a  kind  of 
courage  in  me  that  always  rises  up  against  a  threat.  It 
is  n't  my  nature  to  fear." 

"  If  we  may  judge  our  Father  by  his  voice  in  nature," 
said  Clayton,  "  he  deems  severity  a  necessary  part  of  our 
training.  How  inflexibly  and  terribly  regular  are  all  his 
laws  !  Fire  and  hail,  snow  and  vapor,  stormy  wind,  fulfil- 
ling his  word  —  all  these  have  a  crushing  regularity  in  their 
movements,  which  sho  v  that  he  is  to  be  feared  as  well  as 
loved." 

"  But  I  want  to  be  reli.  "ous,"  said  Nina,  "entirely  apart 
27* 


318  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

from  such  considerations.  Not  driven  .by  fear,  but  drawn 
by  love.  You  can  guide  me  about  these  things,  for  you 
are  religious." 

"  I  fear  I  should  not  be  accepted  as  such  in  any  church," 
said  Clayton.  "  It  is  my  misfortune  that  I  cannot  receive 
any  common  form  of  faith,  though  I  respect  and  sympathize 
with  all.  Generally  speaking,  preaching  only  weakens  my 
faith  ;  and  I  have  to  forget  the  sermon  in  order  to  recover 
my  faith.  I  do  not  believe  —  I  know  that  our  moral  nature 
needs  a  thorough  regeneration  ;  and  I  believe  this  must 
come  through  Chi'ist.     This  is  all  I  am  certain  of." 

"  I  wish  I  were  like  Milly,"  said  Nina.  "  She  is  a  Chris- 
tian, I  know  ;  but  she  has  come  to  it  by  dreadful  sorrows. 
Sometimes  I  'm  afraid  to  ask  my  heavenly  Father  to  make 
me  good,  because  I  think  it  will  come  by  dreadful  trials,  if 
he  does." 

"  And  I',"  said  Clayton,  speaking  with  great  earnestness, 
"would  be  willing  to  suffer  anything  conceivable,  if  I  could 
only  overcome  all  evil,  and  come  up  to  my  highest  ideas  of 
good."  And,  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  his  face  up  to  the 
moonlight  with  an  earnest  fervor  of  expression,  that  struck 
Nina  deeply. 

"  I  almost  shudder  to  hear  you  say  so  !  You  don't  know 
what  it  may  bring  on  you  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  beautiful  smile,  which  was  a 
peculiar  expression  of  his  face  in  moments  of  high  excite- 
ment. 

"  I  say  it  again  !  "  he  said.  "  Whatever  it  involves,  let 
it  come  !  " 

#  *  *  *  *  *  * 

The  exercises  of  the  evening  went  on  with  a  succession 
of  addresses,  varied  by  singing  of  hymns  and  prayers.  In 
the  latter  part  of  the  time  many  declared  themselves  con- 
verts, and  were  shouting  loudly.  Father  Bonnie  came  for- 
ward. 

"  Brethren,"  he  shouted,  "  we  i  e  seeing  a  day  from  the 


THE   CAMP-MEETING.  319 

Lord  !     We  've  got  a  glorious  time  !     0,  brethren,  let  us 
sing  glory  to  the  Lord  !     The  Lord  is  coming  among  us  ! ;' 

The  excitement  now  became  general.  There  was  a  con- 
fused sound  of  exhortation,  prayers,  and  hymns,  all  mixed 
together,  from  different  parts  of  the  ground.  But,  all  of  a 
sudden,  every  one  was  startled  by  a  sound  which  seemed  to 
come  pealing  down  directly  from  the  thick  canopy  of  pines 
over  the  heads  of  the  ministers. 

"  Woe  unto  you  that  desire  the  day  of  the  Lord  !  To 
what  end  shall  it  be  for  you?  The  day  of  the  Lord  shall  be 
darkness,  and  not  light !  Blow  ye  the  trumpet  in  Zion  ! 
Sound  an  alarm  in  my  holy  mountain  !  Let  all  the  in 
habitants  of  the  land  tremble  !  for  the  day  of  the  Lord 
cometh  !  " 

There  was  deep,  sonorous  power  in  the  voice  that  spoke, 
and  the  words  fell  pealing  down  through  the  air  like  the 
vibrations  of  some  mighty  bell.  Men  looked  confusedly  on 
each  other  ;  but,  in  the  universal  license  of  the  hour,  the 
obscurity  of  the  night,  and  the  multitude  of  the  speakers, 
no  one  knew  exactly  whence  it  came.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  the  singers  were  recommencing,  when  again  the  same 
deep  voice  was  heard. 

"  Take  away  from  me  the  noise  of  thy  songs,  and  the  mel- 
ody of  thy  viols  ;  for  I  will  not  hear  them,  saith  the  Lord.  I 
hate  and  despise  your  feast-days  !  I  will  not  smell  in  your 
solemn  assemblies  ;  for  your  hands  are  defiled  with  blood, 
and  your  fingers  are  greedy  for  violence !  Will  ye  kill,  and 
steal,  and  commit  adultery,  and  swear  falsely,  and  come  and 
stand  before  me,  saith  the  Lord?  Ye  oppress  the  poor  and 
needy,  and  hunt  the  stranger  :  also  in  thy  skirts  is  found 
the  blood  of  poor  innocents  !  and  yet  ye  say,  Because  I  am 
clean  shall  his  anger  pass  from  me  !  LTear  this,  ye  that 
swallow  up  the  needy,  and  make  the  poor  of  the  land  to 
fail,  saying,  When  will  the  new  moon  be  gone,  that  we  may 
sell  corn  ?  that  we  may  buy  the  poor  for  silver,  and  the 
needy  for  a  pair  of  shoes  ?  The  Lord  hath  sworn,  saying, 
I  will  never  forget  their  works.     I  will  surely  visit  you  !  " 


320  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

The  audience,  thus  taken,  in  the  obscurity  of  the  evening, 
hy  an  unknown  speaker,  whose  words  seemed  to  fall  appar- 
ently from  the  clouds,  in  a  voice  of  such  strange  and  sin- 
gular quality,  began  to  feel  a  creeping  awe  stealing  over 
them.  The  high  state  of  electrical  excitement  under  which 
they  had  been  going  on,  predisposed  them  to  a  sort  of  re- 
vulsion of  terror  ;  and  a  vague,  mysterious  panic  crept  upon 
them,  as  the  boding,  mournful  voice  continued  to  peal  from 
the  trees. 

"  Hear,  0  ye  rebellious  people  !  The  Lord  is  against  this 
nation  !  The  Lord  shall  stretch  out  upon  it  the  line  of  con- 
fusion, and  the  stones  of  emptiness  1  For  thou  saidst,  I  will 
ascend  into  the  stars  ;  I  will  be  as  God  !  But  thou  shalt  be 
cast  out  as  an  abominable  branch,  and  the  wild  beasts  shall 
tread  thee  down  !  Howl,  fir-tree,  for  thou  art  spoiled  !  Open 
thy  doors,  0  Lebanon,  that  the  fire  may  devour  thy  cedars  ! 
for  the  Lord  cometh  out  of  his  place  to  punish  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  land  !  The  Lord  shall  utter  his  voice  before 
his  army,  for  his  camp  is  very  great !  Multitudes  !  multi- 
tudes !  in  the  valley  of  decision  !  For  the  day  of  the  Lord 
is  near  in  the  valley  of  decision  !  The  sun  and  the  moon 
shall  be  dark,  and  the  stars  withdraw  their  shining  ;  for  the 
Lord  shall  utter  his  voice  from  Jerusalem,  and  the  heavens 
and  earth  shall  shake  1  In  that  d-ay  I  will  cause  the  sun  to 
go  down  at  noon,  and  darken  the  whole  earth  !  And  I  will 
turn  your  feasts  into  mourning,  and  your  songs  into  lament- 
ation !  Woe  to  the  bloody  city !  It  is  full  of  lies  and  robbery ! 
The  noise  of  a  whip  !  —  the  noise  of  the  rattling  of  wheels  ! 
—  of  the  prancing  horses,  and  the  jumping  chariot!  The 
horseman  lifteth  up  the  sword  and  glittering  spear  !  and 
there  is  a  multitude  of  slain  !  There  is  no  end  of  their 
corpses! — They  are  stumbling  upon  the  corpses!  For, 
Behold,  I  am  against  thee,  saith  the  Lord,  and  I  will  make 
thee  utterly  desolate  !  " 

There  was  a  fierce,  wailing  earnestness  in  the  sound  of 
these  dreadful  words,  as  if  they  were  uttered  in  a  paroxysm 
of  affright  and  horror,  by  one  who  stood  face  to  face  with 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  321 

some  tremendous  form.  And,  when  the  sound  ceased,  men 
drew  in  their  breath,  and  looked  on  each  other,  and  the 
crowd  began  slowly  to  disperse,  whispering  in  low  voices 
to  each  other. 

So  extremely  piercing  and  so  wildly  earnest  had  the 
voice  been,  that  it  actually  seemed,  in  the  expressive  words 
of  Scripture,  to  make  every  ear  to  tingle.  And,  as  people 
of  rude  and  primitive  habits  are  always  predisposed  to 
superstition,  there  crept  through  the  different  groups  wild 
legends  of  prophets  strangely  commissioned  to  announce 
coming  misfortunes.  Some  spoke  of  the  predictions  of  the 
judgment-day  ;  some  talked  of  comets,  and  strange  signs 
that  had  preceded  wars  and  pestilences.  The  ministers 
wondered,  and  searched  around  the  stand  in  vain.  One 
auditor  alone  could,  had  he  desired  it,  make  an  explanation. 
Harry,  who  stood  near  the  stand,  had  recognized  the  voice. 
But,  though  he  searched,  also,  around,  he  could  find  no  one. 

He  who  spoke  was  one  whose  savage  familiarity  with 
nature  gave  him  the  agility  and  stealthy  adroitness  of  a 
wild  animal.  And,  during  the  stir  and  commotion  of  the 
dispersing  audience,  he  had  silently  made  his  way  from  tree 
to  tree,  over  the  very  heads  of  those  who  were  yet  wonder- 
ing at  his  strange,  boding  words,  till  at  last  he  descended  in 
a  distant  part  of  the  forest. 

After  the  service,  as  father  Dickson  was  preparing  to  re- 
tire to  his  tent,  a  man  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve.  It  was  the 
Georgia  trader. 

"  We  have  had  an  awful  time,  to-night !  "  said  he,  looking 
actually  pale  with  terror.  "  Do  you  think  the  judgment-day 
really  is  coming?  " 

"  My  friend,"  said  father  Dickson,  "it  surely  is  !  Every 
step  we  take  in  life  is  leading  us  directly  to  the  judgment- 
seat  of  Christ  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  trader,  "  but  do  you  think  that  was 
from  the  Lord,  the  last  one  that  spoke  ?  Durned  if  he 
did  n't  say  awful  things  !  —  'nough  to  make  the  hair  rise  1 
I  tell  you  what,  I  've  often  had  doubts  about  my  trade. 


322  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

The  ministers  may  prove  it  's  all  right  out  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament ;  but  I  'm  durned  if  I  think  they  know  all  the  things 
that  we  do  !  But,  then,  I  an't  so  bad  as  some  of  'em. 
But,  now,  I  've  gut  a  gal  out  in  my  gang  that 's  dreadful 
sick,  and  I  partly  promised  her  I  'd  bring  a  minister  to  see 
her." 

"I'll  go  with  you,  friend,"  said  father  Dickson;  and 
forthwith  he  began  following  the  trader  to  the  racks  where 
their  horses  were  tied.  Selecting,  out  of  some  hundred 
who  were  tied  there,  their  own  beasts,  the  two  midnight 
travellers  soon  found  themselves  trotting  along  under  the 
shadow  of  the  forest's  boughs. 

"  My  friend,"  said  father  Dickson,  "  I  feel  bound  in  con- 
science to  tell  you  that  I  think  your  trade  a  ruinous  one  to 
your  soul.  I  hope  you  '11  lay  to  heart  the  solemn  warning 
you  've  heard  to-night.  Why,  your  own  sense  can  show 
you  that  a  trade  can't  be  right  that  you'd  be  afraid  to  be 
found  in  if  the  great  judgment-day  were  at  hand." 

"  Well,  I  rather  spect  you  speak  the  truth  ;  but,  then, 
what  makes  father  Bonnie  stand  up  for  't  ?  " 

"  My  friend,  I  must  say  that  I  think  father  Bonnie  up- 
holds a  soul-destroying  error.  I  must  say  that,  as  con- 
science-bound. I  pray  the  Lord  for  him  and  you  both.  •  I  put 
it  right  to  your  conscience,  my  friend,  whether  you  think 
you  could  keep  to  your  trade,  and  live  a  Christian  life." 

"  No  ;  the  fact  is,  it 's  a  d d  bad  business,  that 's  just 

where  'tis.  We  an't  fit  to  be  trusted  with  such  things  that 
come  to  us  —  gals  and  women.  Well,  I  feel  pretty  bad,  I 
tell  3rou,  to-night;  'cause  I  know  I  haven't  done  right  by 
this  yer  gal.  I  ought  fur  to  have  let  her  alone  ;  but,  then, 
the  devil  or  something  possessed  me.  And  now  she  has  got 
a  fever,  and  screeches  awfully.  I  declar,  some  things  she 
says  go  right  through  me  !  " 

Father  Dickson  groaned  in  spirit  over  this  account,  and 
felt  himself  almost  guilty  for  belonging  ostensibly  and  out- 
wardly to  a  church  which  tolerated  such  evils.  He  rode 
along  by  the  side  of  his  companion,  breaking  forth  into  occa- 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  323 

sional  ejaculations  and  snatches  of  hymns.  After  a  ride  of 
about  an  hour,  they  arrived  at  the  encampment.  A  large 
fire  had  been  made  in  a  cleared  spot,  and  smouldering  frag- 
ments and  brands  were  lying  among  the  white  ashes.  One 
or  two  horses  were  tied  to  a  neighboring  tree,  and  wagons 
were  drawn  up  by  them.  Around  the  fire,  in  different  groups, 
lay  about  fifteen  men  and  women,  with  heavy  iron  shackles 
on  their  feet,  asleep  in  the  moonlight.  At  a  little  distance 
from  the  group,  and  near  to  one  of  the  wagons,  a  blanket 
was  spread  down  on  the  ground  under  a  tree,  on  which  lay  a 
young  girl  of  seventeen,  tossing  and  moaning  in  a  disturbed 
stupor.  A  respectable-looking  mulatto-woman  was  sitting 
beside  her,  with  a  gourd  full  of  water,  with  which  from  time 
to  time  she  moistened  her  forehead.  The  woman  rose  as 
the  trader  came  up. 

"  Well,  Nance,  how  does  she  do  now  ?  "  said  the  trader. 

"  Mis'able  enough  !  "  said  Nance.  "  She  done  been  toss- 
ing, a  throwing  round,  and  crying  for  her  mammy,  ever 
since  you  went  away  !  " 

"  Well,  I've  brought  the  minister,"  said  he.  "Try, 
Nance,  to  wake  her  up  ;  she  '11  be  glad  to  see  him." 

The  woman  knelt  down,  and  took  the  hand  of  the  sleeper. 
"  Emily  !  Emily!  "  she  said,  "  wake  up  !  " 

The  girl  threw  herself  over  with  a  sudden,  restless  toss. 
"  0,  how  my  head  burns!  —  0,  dear!  —  0,  my  mother  I 
Mother!  —  mother! — mother! — why  don't  you  come  to 
me  ?  " 

Father  Dickson  approached  and  knelt  the  other  side  of 
her.  The  mulatto-woman  made  another  effort  to  bring  her 
to  consciousness. 

"  Emily  here  's  the  minister  you  was  wanting  so  much! 
Emily,  wake  up  !  " 

The  girl  slowly  opened  her  eyes  —  large,  tremulous,  dark 
eyes.  She  drew  her  hand  across  them,  as  if  to  clear  her 
sight,  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  woman. 

"  Minister  !  — minister  !  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  minister  !     You  said  you  wanted  to  see  one." 


324  THE    CAMP-MEETIXG. 

"  0,  yes,  I  did  !  "  she  said,  heavily. 

"My  daughter!"  said  father  Dickson,  "you  are  very 
sick  !  » 

"  Yes  !  "  she  said,  "  very  !  And  I  'm  glad  of  it !  I  'm 
going-  to  die  !  — I  'm  glad  of  that,  too  !  That 's  all  I  've  got 
left  to  be  glad  of!  But  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  write  to  my 
mother.  She  is  a  free  woman  ;  she  lives  in  New  York.  I 
want  you  to  give  my  love  to  her,  and  tell  her  not  to  worry 
any  more.  Tell  her  I  tried  all  I  could  to  get  to  her  ;  but 
they  took  us,  and  mistress  was  so  angry  she  sold  me  !  I 
forgive  her,  too.  I  don't  bear  her  any  malice,  'cause  it's 
all  over,  now  !  She  used  to  say  I  was  a  wild  girl,  and 
laughed  too  loud.  I  shan't  trouble  any  one  that  way  any 
more  !     So  that's  no  matter  !  " 

The  girl  spoke  these  sentences  at  long  intervals,  occa- 
sionally opening  her  eyes  and  closing  them  again  in  a 
languid  manner.  Father  Dickson,  however,  who  had  some 
knowledge  of  medicine,  placed  his  finger  on  her  pulse, 
which  was  rapidly  sinking.  It  is  the  usual  instinct,  in  all 
such  cases,  to  think  of  means  of  prolonging  life.  Father 
Dickson  rose,  and  said  to  the  trader : 

"  Unless  some  stimulus  be  given  her,  she  will  be  gone 


very  soon 


I  » 


The  trader  produced  from  his  pocket  a  flask  of  brandy, 
which  he  mixed  with  a  little  water  in  a  cup,  and  placed  it 
in  father  Dickson's  hand.  He  kneeled  down  again,  and, 
calling  her  by  name,  tried  to  make  her  take  some. 

"What  is  it?"  said  she,  opening  her  wild,  glittering 
eyes. 

"  It's  something  to  make  you  feel  better." 

"  I  don't  want  to  feel  better  !  I  want  to  die  !  "  she  said, 
throwing  herself  over.     "  What  should  I  want  to  live  for?" 

What  should  she  ?  The  words  struck  father  Dickson  so 
much  that  he  sat  for  a  while  in  silence.  He  meditated  in 
his  mind  how  he  could  reach,  with  any  words,  that  dying 
ear,  or  enter  with  her  into  that  land  of  trance  and  mist, 
into  whose  cloudy  circle  the  soul  seemed  already  to  have 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  325 

passed.  Guided  by  a  subtle  instinct,  he  seated  himself  by 
the  dying  girl,  and  began  singing,  in  a  subdued,  plaintive 
air,  the  following  well-known  h}Trun  : 

"Hark,  my  soul  !  it  is  the  Lord, 
T  is  thy  Saviour,  hear  his  word  ; 
Jesus  speaks  —  he  speaks  to  thee  ! 
Say,  poor  sinner,  lov'st  thou  me  ?  " 

The  melody  is  one  often  sung  among  the  negroes  ;  and 
one  which,  from  its  tenderness  and  pathos,  is  a  favorite 
among  them.  As  oil  will  find  its  way  into  crevices  where 
water  cannot  penetrate,  so  song  will  find  its  way  where 
speech  can  no  longer  enter.  The  moon  shone  full  on  the 
face  of  the  dying  girl,  only  interrupted  by  flickering  shadows 
of  leaves  ;  and,  as  father  Dickson  sung,  he  fancied  he  saw 
a  slight,  tremulous  movement  of  the  face,  as  if  the  soul,  so 
worn  and  weary,  were  upborne  on  the  tender  pinions  of  the 
song.     He  went  on  singing  : 

"  Can  a  mother's  tender  care 

Cease  toward  the  child  she  bare  ? 
Tes,  she  may  forgetful  be  : 
Still  will  I  remember  thee." 

By  the  light  of  the  moon,  he  saw  a  tear  steal  from  under 
the  long  lashes,  and  course  slowly  down  her  cheek.  lie 
continued  his  song : 

"  Mine  is  an  eternal  love, 

Higher  than  the  heights  above, 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath, 
True  and  faithful  — strong  as  death. 

"  Thou  shalt  see  my  glory  soon, 
When  the  woj-k  of  faith  is  done  ; 
Partner  of  my  throne  shalt  be  ! 
Say,  poor  sinner,  lor'st  thou  me  ?  " 

0,  love  of  Christ !  which   no   sin  can  weary,  which  no 
lapse  of  time  can  change  ;  from  which  tribulation,  persecu- 
28 


326  THE     CAMP-MEETING. 

tion,  and  distress,  cannot  separate  —  all-redeeming,  all-glori- 
fying-, changing  even  death  and  despair  to  the  gate  of 
heaven  !  Thou  hast  one  more  triumph  here  in  the  wilder- 
ness, in  the  slave-coffle,  and  thou  comest  to  bind  up  the 
broken-hearted. 

As  the  song  ceased,  she  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Mother  used  to  sing  that !  "  she  said. 

"  And  can  you  believe  in  it,  daughter  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  see  Him  now  !  He  loves  me  !  Let 
me  go  ! " 

There  followed  a  few  moments  of  those  stragglings  and 
shiverings  which  are  the  birth-pangs  of  another  life,  and 
Emily  lay  at  rest. 

Father  Dickson,  kneeling  by  her  side,  poured  out  the  ful- 
ness of  his  heart  in  an  earnest  prayer.  Kising,  he  went  up 
to  the  trader,  and,  taking  his  hand,  said  to  him, 

"  My  friend,  this  may  be  the  turning-point  with  your  soul 
for  eternity.  It  has  pleased  the  Lord  to  show  you  the  evil 
of  your  ways  ;  and  now  my  advice  to  you  is,  break  off  your 
sins  at  once,  and  do  works  meet  for  repentance.  Take  off 
the  shackles  of  these  poor  creatures,  and  tell  them  they  are 
at  liberty  to  go." 

"Why,  bless  your  soul,  sir,  this  yer  lot's  worth  ten 
thousand  dollars  !  "  said  the  trader,  who  was  not  prepared 
for  so  close  a  practical  application. 

Do  not  be  too  sure,  friend,  that  the  trader  is  peculiar  in 
this.  The  very  same  argument,  though  less  frankly  stated, 
holds  in  the  bonds  of  Satan  many  extremely  well-bred,  re- 
fined, respectable  men,  who  would  gladly  save  their  souls, 
if  they  could  afford  the  luxury. 

"  My  friend,"  said  father  Dickson,  using  the  words  of  a 
very  close  and  uncompromising  preacher  of  old,  "what 
shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  should  gain  the  whole  world,  and 
lose  his  own  soul  ?  " 

"I  know  that,"  said  the  trader,  doubtfully;  "but  it's  a 
very  hard  case,   this.     I  '11  think  about  it,   though.     But 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  327 

there  's  father  Bonnie  wants  to  buy  Nance.  It  would  be  a 
pity  to  disappoint  him.     But  I  '11  think  it  over." 

Father  Dickson  returned  to  the  camp-ground  between  one 
and  two  o'clock  at  night,  and,  putting  away  his  horse,  took 
his  way  to  the  ministers'  tent.  Here  he  found  father  Bonnie 
standing  out  in  the  moonlight.  He  had  been  asleep  within 
the  tent ;  but  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  the  interior  of  a 
crowded  tent  on  a  camp-ground  is  anything  but  favorable  to 
repose.  He  therefore  came  out  into  the  fresh  air,  and  was 
there  when  father  Dickson  came  back  to  enter  the  tent. 

"  Well,  brother,  where  have  you  been  so  late  ?  "  said 
father  Bonnie. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  a  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness, 
whom  everybody  neglects,"  said  father  Dickson.  And  then, 
in  a  tone  tremulous  from  agitation,  he  related  to  him  the 
scene  he  had  just  witnessed. 

"Do  you  see,"  he  said,  "  brother,  what  iniquities  you  are 
countenancing  ?  Now,  here,  right  next  to  our  camp,  a  slave- 
come  encamped !  Men  and  women,  guilty  of  no  crime, 
driven  in  fetters  through  our  land,  shaming  ms  in  the  sight 
of  every  Christian  nation  !  What  horrible,  abominable 
iniquities  are  these  poor  traders  tempted  to  commit !  What 
perfect  hells  are  the  great  trading-houses,  where  men, 
women,  and  children,  are  made  merchandise  of,  and  where 
no  light  of  the  Gospel  ever  enters  !  And,  when  this  poor 
trader  is  convicted  of  sin,  and  wants  to  enter  into  the  king- 
dom, you  stand  there  to  apologize  for  his  sins  !  Brother 
Bonnie,  I  much  fear  you  are  the  stumbling-block  over  which 
souls  will  stumble  into  hell.  I  don't  think  you  believe  your 
argument  from  the  Old  Testament,  yourself.  You  must  see 
that  it  has  no  kind  of  relation  to  such  kind  of  slavery  as  we 
have  in  this  country.  There  's  an  awful  scripture  which 
saith  :  '  He  feedeth  on  ashes  ;  a  deceived  heart  hath  turned 
him  aside,  so  that  he  cannot  deliver  his  soul,  nor  say,  Is 
there  not  a  lie  in  my  right  hand  ?  '  " 

The  earnestness  with  which  father  Dickson  spoke,  com- 
bined  with  the   reverence   commonlv  entertained   for   his 


328  THE    CAMP-MEETING. 

piety,  gave  great  force  to  his  words.  The  reader  will  not 
therefore  wonder  to  hear  that  father  Bonnie,  impulsive  and 
easily  moved  as  he  was,  wept  at  the  account,  and  was 
moved  hy  the  exhortation.  Nor  will  he  be  surprised  to  learn 
that,  two  weeks  after,  father  Bonnie  drove  a  brisk  bargain 
with  the  same  trader  for  three  new  hands. 

The  trader  had  discovered  that  the  judgment-day  was  not 
coming  yet  a  while  ;  and  father  Bonnie  satisfied  himself  that 
Noah,  when  he  awoke  from  his  wine,  said,  "  Cursed  be  Ca- 
naan." 

^  #  ^  if:  ^  Jfc  5|c 

We  have  one  scene  more  to  draw  before  we  dismiss  the 
auditors  of  the  camp-meeting. 

At  a  late  hour  the  Gordon  carriage  was  winding  its  way 
under  the  silent,  checkered,  woodland  path.  Harry,  who 
came  slowly  on  a  horse  behind,  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  bridle. 
With  a  sudden  start,  he  stopped. 

"  0,  Dred,  is  it  you  ?  How  dared  you  —  how  could  you 
be  so  imprudent  ?  How  dared  you  come  here,  when  you 
know  you  risk  your  life  ?  " 

"  Life  !  "  said  the  other,  "  what  is  life  ?  "  He  that  loveth 
his  life  shall  lose  it.  Besides,  the  Lord  said  unto  me,  Go ! 
The  Lord  is  with  me  as  a  mighty  and  terrible  one  !  Harry, 
did  you  mark  those  men  ?  Hunters  of  men,  their  hands 
red  with  the  blood  of  the  poor,  all  seeking  unto  the  Lord  ! 
Ministers  who  buy  and  sell  us  !  Is  this  a  people  prepared 
for  the  Lord  ?  I  left  a  man  dead  in  the  swamps,  whom  their 
dogs  have  torn  !  His  wife  is  a  widow  —  his  children,  or- 
phans !  They  eat  and  wipe  their  mouth,  and  say,  '  What 
have  I  done  ?  '  The  temple  of  the  Lord,  the  temple  of  the 
Lord,  are  we  !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Harry,  gloomily. 

"  And  you  join  yourself  unto  them  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  any  more  about  that  !  I  won't  be- 
tray you,  but  I  won't  consent  to  have  blood  shed.  My 
mistress  is  my  sister." 

"  0,  yes,  to  be  sure  !     They  read  Scripture,  don't  they  ? 


THE    CAMP-MEETING.  329 

Cast  out  the  children  of  the  bond-woman  !     That 's  Scrip- 
ture for  them  !  " 

"Dred,"  said  Harry,  "  I  love  her  better  than  I  love  my- 
self. I  will  fight  for  her  to  the  last,  but  never  against 
her,  nor  hers  ! ,; 

"  And  you  will  serve  Tom  Gordon  ?  "  said  Dred. 

"  Never  !  "  said  Harry. 

Dred  stood  still  a  moment.  Through  an  opening  among 
the  branches  the  moonbeams  streamed  down  on  his  wild, 
dark  figure.  Harry  remarked  his  eye  fixed  before  him  on 
vacancy,  the  pupil  swelling  out  in  glassy  fulness,  with  a 
fixed,  somnambulic  stare.  After  a  moment,  he  spoke,  in  a 
hollow,  altered  voice,  like  that  of  a  sleep-walker  : 

"  Then  shall  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  and  the  golden 
bowl  be  broken.  Yes,  cover  up  the  grave  —  cover  it  up  1 
Now,  hurry !  come  to  me,  or  he  will  take  thy  wife  for  a 
prey  !  " 

"  Dred,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Harry.  "What 's  the 
matter  ?  "     He  shook  him  by  the  shoulder. 

Dred  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared  on  Harry. 

"  I  must  go  back,"  he  said,  "  to  my  den.  'Foxes  have 
holes,  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests/  and  in  the  habitation 
of  dragons  the  Lord  hath  opened  a  way  for  his  outcasts  !  " 

He  plunged  into  the  thickets,  and  was  gone. 
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and  finely  illustrated.    16mo.    Price,  muslin,  60  cents  ;  muslin,  full  gilt,  88  cents. 

UNCLE  FRANK'S  BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY.  A  beautiful  Series,  comprising  six 
volumes,  square  16mo.,  with  eight  tinted  Engravings  in  each  volume.  The  following  are  their  titles 
respectively  : 

I.  The  Pedler's  Boy;  or,  I'll  be  Somebody. 

Lt.  The  Diving  Bell ;  or,  Pearls  to  be  sought  for. 

III.  The  Poor  Organ  Grinder,  and  other  Stories. 

IV.  Loss  and  Gain;  or  Susy  Lee's  Motto. 

V.    Mike  Marble ;  his  Crotchets  and  Oddities. 
VI.    The  Wonderful  Letter  Bag  of  Kit  Curious. 

By  Francis  C.  "Woodworth.    Price,  bound  in  muslin,  50  cents  per  volume  ;  muslin,  gilt,  75  cents 
per  volume. 

UNCLE  FRANK'S  PEEP  AT  THE  BIRDS.  With  twenty-four  beautiful  characteristic 
engravings.    By  Francis  C.  "Woodworth.    16mo.    Price,  muslin,  50  cents  ;   muslin,  gilt,  75  cents. 

UNCLE  FRANK'S  PEEP  AT  THE  ANIMALS.  With  twenty-four  fine  illustrations.  By 
Francis  C.  Woodworth.    lGmo.    Price,  musUn,  50  cents  ;  muslin,  gilt,  75  cents. 

THE    ANGEL    CHILDREN;    or,  Stories  from  Cloud  Land.    By  Mrs.  Charlotte  M.  H. 
Sterling.    Price,  muslin,  50  cents  :  full  gilt,  75  cents. 
In  this  work  the  purest  principles — love,  gentleness,  obedience,  benevolence — are  inculcated  in  the  mos 
original  and  attractive  manner. 


The  Juvenile  Books  above  enumerated  form  but  a  small  part  of  the  publishers'  list.    Catalogues  sen 
post-paid,  upon  application. 


rUBLtsnED     BT 
PHILLIPS,      SAMPSON      &      CO.,      Boston, 

And  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  in  the  United  States. 


